The Butcher Bird (One Piece SI)
by Ragnarok Ascendant
Summary: Some Self-Inserts in One Piece end up as initial weaklings, but gain power. Most SIs in One Piece end up with the Straw Hat Pirates. This SI is not so lucky. Canon Expansion, doesn't follow the Straw Hat crew. Also yes the image is awful, I made it in MSPaint. Please review. I love feedback.
1. Founder's Arc- Chapters 1-6

000000000000000000- chapter breaks, should only apply to the first five chapters as those are consolidated from arcs.

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\- PoV breaks. This site likes to eat them so I have to add them in manually.

Fair warning, if you came here expecting another Straw-Hat-centric fic, abandon that. I won't spoil anything, but this fic's aimed at Canon Expansion, not going along the same fixed route.

* * *

The man was old, and dying. He'd been dying for years, but now it was tearing him apart.

 _I don't know where I am. A jungle, duh, but no idea where it was. I'd tried eating some of the fruits over the past weeks I'd been trapped in this green hell. They'd tasted worse than anything I'd ever eaten._ Everything _tasted like that._

Neither of us had the supplies or the expertise to fend off old age, not really. He'd lived longer than most, in this world.

 _But now? I could smell something delicious. I could barely see, was crashing through the underbrush like an idiot, but there was_ food _somewhere._

Two years of training. Of ridiculous tasks, of killing wild animals, of battling the pirates that passed by and taking what we wanted and needed from them, all so I could grow stronger. He'd given that, for a promise.

 _I'm on it before it realizes I'm there, blind with hunger,_ mad _with it, teeth finding an artery easily and opening it up, so sweet._

It was a price I'd been more than willing to pay, once I'd realized which world I'd been sent to, and in what era.

 _Something struck me in the side, driving me away from my catch, and I growled. Pressure in my back relieved itself, and red tendrils lashed out, cutting down the prey where they stood. More meat, after all. Other members of the herd ran, and I let them. I had food._

The old man raised himself off the bed with effort, and I was at his side in an instant. "Easy, you bastard. You're not well," I say quietly.

 _It wasn't until the first of the crew had been reduced to blood and cracked bone that I realized what I was devouring so desperately, and what the red tendril-limbs that had burst from my back were._

"You think..I do not know that, little monster?" the old man replies. "Help me up. I will not...die in my bed."

 _I don't remember what happened after, not clearly. Flashes. Violence, men screaming for their leaders to save them. Running from me in fear. Men in white uniforms trying to burn down the forest, falling to me, becoming food. I don't know how long it was. But then_ _ **He**_ _came._

"If you say so, Sensei." I can feel the bones where I lay a hand on his back, sharp under thin skin. When had the old man gotten so frail? It seemed like only a few days ago he'd been lifting boulders and chopping down trees beside me.

 _ **He**_ _came alone, and the memory of the ambush I laid for_ _ **Him**_ _is still clear as day. I hurtled down from the trees, tendrils striking- and hit nothing but dirt as pain ripped through me._

Slowly, I help him shuffle out the door and onto the porch of the tiny wooden house we'd lived in for two years. He sinks into the rocking chair with a groan, and nods fractionally.

 _I'd expected to die as I lay there, unable to move, my body refusing to heal the damage, hearing_ _ **His**_ _footsteps draw closer. I welcomed it. I deserved it, for being too weak to end myself when I'd realized what I'd become. Instead,_ _ **He**_ _spoke._

"You know what you must do," the old man whispers. I nod. We'd spoken of this, agreed on it. It still hurt to do it.

" _So. You are the monster that lurks, guarding the treasure of the forest,"_ _ **He**_ _said, leaning down so I could look at_ _ **Him**_ _from where I was frozen._ _ **His**_ _voice stripped away madness, cleared the hunger. "An eater of men. A ghoul. But…"_ _ **He**_ _paused, and looked at me closely. "You are not one by choice, but by necessity. Hmm. When you are healed, little monster, seek me out. It will not be easy, but I doubt your life has been."_

I hand the old man his sword, an ancient thing, near as long as I am tall. He leans on it at first, levering himself out of his chair, but as he gets upright strength seems to return to his limbs, and his eyes clear. By the time we head down into the grass surrounding the house, he stands straight, the image of a wise man who was still strong.

 _I clung to the sanity_ _ **He'd**_ _given me in the days that followed. And I followed his trail and his scent, down to the harbor. I'd forgotten my name, so I chose a new one. With half-remembered speech I secured passage aboard a passenger liner, and waited. When a man aboard attacked a woman one night, I waited for a stormy night, ate well, and spun a tale of him having slipped over the side. His scent spurred me on, and with stolen funds I bribed a fisherman to follow it to monstrous shores. Serpents and strange creatures rose up to try to sink the fisherman's vessel, and despite the growing hunger in my belly. and the wounds they inflicted, I cut them all down, staggering ashore with blood spilling from my wounds._

We face each other in grass that has grown up to our knees. I focus, and a single tail bursts free, coiling out to my right as I slip off the red captain's coat I've grown to favor. In response, the old man raises his sword.

 _ **He**_ _found me at the entrance to his home the following morning, and smiled. "You have survived. Well, little monster...what is it you desire? Survival? Power? Riches? What in this blood-soaked world do you want most?"_

I lunge forward. So does he. Tendril and sword strike as one.

"Scale Cut!"

"Blade of Want!"

 _What did I want? If I wanted mere survival, I would never have followed_ _ **Him**_ _. If I wanted to rule, I was terrifying enough. If I wanted riches...what man could stop me, in one of the Blues?_

 _Fragments of memory tell me. Men who call themselves dragons, slaving and raping with none to stop them. Islands burning over the fears of bureaucrats. Countless lives ruined by petty cruelty and the desire for power. Madmen with abilities none can counter suffocating countries under their rule._

" _I want…"_

Blood spatters the grass, and I stagger as a cut appears across my chest, bone-deep. But healing.

 _I raise my eyes to meet his own. "This world is a cruel place, filled with monsters. And so I'll kill them. I want the strength to do that."_

The old man falls to his knees as his sword breaks, his blood staining the ground.

" _Then I think we can make an accord, little monster,"_ _ **He**_ _said. "I will give you that strength, if you will add seven to your list of monsters."_

My tendril lashes out and severs neck and spinal cord, coiling around the head in an instant, returning it to me. I close the old man's sole remaining eye, then lay it down in the grass. It will keep. The body will not.

I eat.

" _Seven lives? What have they done?" I ask._

" _They killed a dream,"_ _ **He**_ _replies. "Do you have a name, little monster?"_

" _Yoshimura Kaneki."_

" _Hm. Then, young Yoshimura, my name is Arima Zoss. Until you die or your training is complete, you will address me as master."_

When that is done, I gather up a burlap sack and cotton cloth, wrap the head carefully, and place it in the sack. I get the meagre possessions I still have- a few beri, a sharp knife, a few changes of clothing- and then set bales of hay against the walls of the house.

By the time I set foot into the small skiff that Zoss had kept for supply runs, the house was burning merrily.

I have a large bounty to claim, a crew to gather, and a better ship to either buy or steal.

After all, while the skiff is plenty for the South Blue, it isn't something that'll survive the Grand Line, much less the New World. And I have business to handle.

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It is _alarmingly_ difficult to get a bounty turned over to you, apparently.

Well, it actually isn't, if you've got approval, recognition, and occasionally a license.

But if you do what I did, which was dump a head in front of the first Marine to challenge me...well…that lands you an interview with the base Captain and about a dozen heavily armed guards. All in a very small room.

I can smell their fear. Even the Captain- a man built like a shaved bear with a set of brass knuckles shoved _very conspicuously_ into his pockets- is quietly freaking out. Mostly because I haven't said a word after telling them I was there to claim the old man's bounty.

Not my plan, but the old bastard wanted to go down fighting and figured his bounty would give me some start-up funding.

And so we wait. The Captain hasn't spoken, and neither have I. The only sounds are the slight noises the Marine guards make and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

It's incredibly creepy. Then again, I can't judge.

After several minutes of this charade, a guy who I assume is a clerk enters and whispers in the Captain's ear. The man nods, then stands, and I tense myself, waiting for something to go wrong.

"Well, Mr. Yoshimura, it seems you have done the Marines a service after all. The bounty has been confirmed. Arima 'One-Eyed King' Zoss, worth 21 million beri. Now, there is a small wrinkle…"

"Let me guess, you don't have that kind of cash on hand," I say drily.

"For the bounty as it was posted, well, we could pay that. However, his bounty is fifty years old, and with the inflation of the beri since then…the World Government decreed that bounties would be pegged to increase with inflation- to ensure criminals who were laying low would still be considered profitable to the more mercenary hunters- and...well, it totals to one hundred and eight million. We had to confirm that it was indeed him before handing over that amount of money."

Oh my God. Internal screaming, welcome once more. I thought you'd given up years ago. I try to keep a calm face, but I feel my tendrils begin to shift under my skin and, judging by the sudden paleness every Marine in the room is experiencing, my eyes have changed- red irises, black sclerae, as they always do when using my abilities. Keep calm. Act like it's intentional. "I see. So, that is not a problem anymore, right?"

"How exactly did you kill him?"

"He was old, but I was sure it was him. Saw him practicing with his sword, once, that made it a certainty. So I cut him down, carved off his head, and came here for the bounty."

"With that knife?"

"No."

"Then with what?"

"You always ask this many questions? He's dead, and I'm claiming the bounty."

The Captain regards me for a long moment, then nods abruptly. "Very well. You want the payment in cash, I assume."

"Yes." I control myself, force my eyes back to normal, and nod.

They seem very glad to see the back of me, and so I walk quickly into the small town that's grown around the base, thinking to myself.

I have a bigger budget than I thought, but the goal's the same nonetheless- I have quite a few purchases to make, and I want to be off this island as fast as possible. I'm already feeling the first pangs of hunger and eating someone near a Marine base is just _asking_ for trouble.

Luckily, one of the things I'd brought with me had been a food supply. Pork jerky, well, long pork, ha ha. It'd last for long enough that I could make landfall on a larger island, Yardam, and investigate the mountainside. One cliff in particular had been marked out a location to forage under.

Large cities like those on Yardam meant a high suicide rate.

I shake my head and stop thinking grim things for a bit. I've got funds, I've got a boat, and I've got a plan.

Beyond the seven Zoss demanded as his price- the seven usurpers, he called them- I had a few ideas on people that deserved to be dealt with. But most of them were far beyond my level (see: Admirals, and by extension pretty much all the Celestial Dragons, ditto the rest of Marine high command) or would be dealt with without me lifting a finger (everyone Luffy put the smackdown on). All of that was stuff in the East Blue or on a specific part of the Grand Line, though, and I didn't want to touch any of that. Newspapers had told me that, at the very least, the Paramount War hadn't happened yet, and Zoss had told me Roger was dead, but I had no idea of the dates beyond that, or any real way of knowing if he'd started his journey at all yet.

With my luck and nature, I'll run into him as a full-fledged antagonist. After all, it's hard to go darker than 'eats people on a regular basis'. Could even qualify as grimdark.

The question is, what exactly do I do? Be a captain? There were those who were worse to their men than I'd be, for less reason. But did I want to do that? Worries for later.

Oh, and by the way, screw you, ROB or God or whoever's responsible. Just your friendly daily reminder from a guy who went so crazy he had to be beaten back into sanity.

As if in response, a gust of wind blows down the dirt road, raising a minor dust storm. I squint, and look for a spot to duck out of the wind, which is only intensifying. There. Looks like a storefront. I stumble inside, blinking dust out of my eyes, and look around.

That...that is a _lot_ of masks.

"Welcome to the Hall of Masks," a man says suddenly, appearing from behind a stand of befeathered full-face masks that vaguely rememble owls. He...is difficult to look at. And not because he's ugly, but because his incredibly garish clothing, including what I'm pretty sure is a Hawaiian shirt and a feather boa larger than an _actual_ boa, blends in so well with the riot of color that is the merchandise that the eyes slide right off him.

"Uh...thank you." I'm not even sure I can see his actual body under all those clothes. Huh.

Fuck it, might as well make use of the place. "I think I should get a mask. I can see you have a lot in stock."

"We have masks for just about every occasion! Parties, festivals, ritual dances, wars, weddings, masquerades…"

Wars? No, Kaneki, roll with it. This is One Piece, there are no sane people.

"And what were you looking for, young man?"

I shrug. "Something I can fight in, that I can fix if damaged...hmm. If it can be red and look... birdlike, that would be best."

"Not a problem, not a problem at all! Come, let me show you, a mask must be fitted properly, after all…"

Before my brain can gather itself I'm stuck in front of a mirror, staring at myself.

I don't look like a captain. Red coat or not, I still don't look like one. It's only now that I'm in front of a mirror that it becomes apparent how...off...it looks. I'm not a captain, and I'll never be one, I think to myself. I take off the coat, thinking quietly.

Brown hair, cut down practically to the skull- my tails were sharper and more dexterous than any pair of scissors- skin that's refused to tan despite years under the sun, eyes that can switch between blue and white to red and black with an instant's thought...hmm.

I catch the man out of the corner of my eye, carrying a box under one floral-printed arm. "I don't suppose you sell things other than masks?" I ask.

"Oh, masks must be made with more than just a face being covered," the man says with a nod. "Yes, we have much. But first, the mask itself- everything else can be made to fit it, but the mask is essential, yes. Here!"

I take the box, and open it carefully. The mask that glares back at me is a half-face one, meant to cover the eyes and nose but not hide the mouth or jaw. It flares down to a point, a beaklike portion covering the nose while the rest looks meant to go over the ears, making a suggestion of feathers. Round lenses, clear, high-quality glass, reflect my own eyes. Most of it is made of a dark red wood I don't recognize, but bits around the lenses have been stained a brighter color.

I put it on. It fits perfectly. I grin at myself in the mirror, and change my eyes. The lenses flare red, something in them capturing the color perfectly. "I _like_ it."

"Very good. One should always enjoy the mask they wear. Now, to go with it, young man... I do not believe you will be a leader of men, but you will be strong, and for that…" he trails off, muttering to himself, and I let him speak philosophically as he heads for the back of the shop.

I get the impression that the moment I step outside this shop, it's going to vanish. It seems like that sort of place. Too...perfect.

The man comes back with a black tricorn hat and a black jacket. While the hat is simple, the jacket... I honestly can't tell if those are actual feathers or if the design has been pressed into the leather. The eyes say the second but touch says the first. I put both on anyway.

Huh. I look _good._

"How much does this cost?" I ask as I straighten the hat on my head.

"For you, young man? Five thousand beri should suffice."

That is... alarmingly cheap. I give the man a look. "If it's this cheap because it eats my soul or something I'm going to be very annoyed."

"No no no, such a thing would be horrendous! But if you insist, fifty thousand will be the price."

I'm paying more, and yet I feel much safer. Fuck it, why not.

I pay, and exit the store carefully, refusing to look away. It stays there, stubbornly. Solidly.

Nope. Fuck that. I'm ignoring it now. So long, Shop That Wasn't There Yesterday, your trope is now done!

It's only after I enter the bar that I remember I can't actually drink alcohol.

Wonderful.

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As it turns out, the bar served coffee as well as alcohol. It was brewed in a pot that was probably old when the Pirate King had been executed, but it didn't matter.

I'd been a coffee addict before becoming a ghoul, and being restricted in my choices had only intensified that addiction. So I drank happily, and for long enough that the sun had begun to set by the time I walked out of the bar, several dozen beri lighter and enough caffeine to kill any normal person heavier.

I make my way down to the docks, then sniff the air warily. Gunpowder, tar, and a reek of salt layered over nervous sweat and tense muscles.

Hmm. A sailor, one familiar with weapons, which meant Marine or pirate. Out at this hour...more likely the second one.

I pause at the end of the dock, my skiff just a short distance away, and turn warily, tails itching to be let free.

It's just an old man, in a tattered set of Marine whites, missing his left arm. Huh. Was expecting something more... intimidating.

"You want something?" I ask flatly.

"You... you're the bounty hunter, right?" the man asks, voice wavering.

Not really a _career_ , but if it earns some cash..."Yup. Who're you looking for me to find?"

The old guy clears his throat. "My grandson."

"Okay, what happened to him and why are you coming to _me_ about it? There's a Marine base just up the road, if you need children retrieved."

The old man laughs. "The Marines? Ha! Might as well kill the boy myself as set the Marines on him."

"What the hell did he do?"

"Fool boy ran off to be a _pirate_ , of all things. I tell him to stay at home, be a doctor, but no, apparently he'd rather stitch up bullet holes than do something worthwhile. Marines won't be of any help- I asked, and they told me it's only because of my service they're not hunting the boy down right now! No respect for their elders these days, I-"

I hold up a hand. "Okay. Again, why _me._ A bounty hunter needs a good relationship with the Marines, or they don't get paid, and this is sounding like something that'd piss them off good and proper."

The old man seems to shrink in on himself. "...there isn't anyone else who'll do it," he finally says.

Fuck. Now I feel bad.

"I don't want you to bring him back. Boy'll just make further trouble, anyhow. But...he said he was headed for Yardam, and I hoped…"

"What?"

"I have a letter. If you find him, just...give it to him. Please."

Alright. Less likely to cause too much trouble. "Sure. Was headed for Yardam anyway. What's your name, old man? And his, come to think of it. And a face for the name wouldn't hurt."

"Grigori Rasputi, my son's Grigori Vinci. Boy doesn't look a lick like me. Took after his father, the brat. Skinny, black hair, probably got a grin on his face. Brat. I have money, if…"

"Nah. Like I said, was gonna be sailing for Yardam anyway. I'll keep an eye out for the kid." I tip the edge of my tricorn, then hold out a hand.

"Oh! Right, the letter…" Rasputi rummages in his pockets with his only hand and pulls out a yellowed envelope, which I take and tuck into an inside pocket. He looks at the skiff quizzically. "Tide's not right to be sailing out," he notes. "Nor the wind. How're you going to get out to sea?"

I grin. "That, old man, is a secret."

"Bah. Fine, don't tell me. But deliver that letter, you hear?"

"I hear ya, old man." I climb into the skiff, and pull out a set of oars, setting them into the tiny vessel's oarlocks and starting to pull. Rasputi waves as the dock pulls away at a decent clip. Tide doesn't matter much when you've got strength and your own healing factor handles muscle tears and other fatigue symptoms like they don't exist.

I wait until the island's a smudge on the horizon before I put the oars away.

"One tail, two tail." The red appendages glow faintly in the darkness.

I coil them up into spirals, and shove them into the water before spinning as quickly as I can manage, keeping the motion up as the water froths and the skiff leaps forwards.

Fuck steam engines, I made my own screw propellers.

Hours pass as I wait for the caffeine to wear off, following the compass and the stars. Yardam was practically a straight shot north.

Fuck, whoever this kid is, I hope that he doesn't end up at the wrong end of a rifle.

It takes way too long for me to fall asleep.

Yardam's a fairly well-populated island. A prosperous town under a strong Marine base, a trading port that has little trouble from pirates thanks to said Marine base...basically if it weren't for the high population and the 'convenient' mountain I'd have trouble getting food. Well, getting it without causing investigations and/or panic.

The docks are fairly empty as I tie up the skiff and walk, yawning, into the town proper, toting an empty pack on my back. Past the town is the Marine base, partially dug into the mountainside, and then the forests and the mountain itself. I'll have to wait until nightfall and hope I get lucky.

My stomach growls.

There's a square up ahead. Maybe I can find a coffee shop or something. And maybe I can ask around and find this Vinci kid.

Huh. There's a crowd.

And a gallows. With Marines guarding it, a black-hooded executioner standing by with a hand on the lever, and a young man in irons with his neck in the noose. Off to the side is a pile of shroud-wrapped bodies.

Shit. An execution. I squint, staring at the guy who's been unfortunate enough to piss off the Marines. He looks nearly as gaunt as me, with a mess of black hair, wearing prison stripes.

Wait. Skinny. Black-haired. Shit shit shit. I strain my ears to hear the Marine reading off the list of charges, hoping that-

"-under these charges, you, Grigori Vinci, have been sentenced to hang by the neck until-"

God fucking damnit.

This isn't my fight. I could just walk away, let the Marines hang the man for calling himself a pirate. Or for doing worse, who knows. I could collect what I needed, never deliver the letter, and just keep going.

Fuck that shit.

"One tail, two tail, three tail, four," I say flatly, letting the pressure at the small of my back burst free and take form. By the time the closer members of the crowd have turned at my sudden announcement, two of my tails have launched me over their heads, a third cutting the noose, and a fourth snatching Grigori up as I land on the execution stand. Bullets patter off my tails, one slamming into my shoulder, but I ignore them, and instead launch off again, taking Grigori with me as I bound over the rooftops.

The bastard's laughing like a madman as I hit the ground three streets away, dropping him to the dirt. The idiot pops back up again, grinning. "That. Was. Awesome! Also, who are you, and what are those?" Before I can react, he starts prodding one of my tails, babbling scientific terminology that I barely even remember. What the hell? He was condemned to die about five seconds ago, and all he cares about is the biology of his rescuer? Roll with it, Kaneki, nobody is sane on this planet, least of all you. "Yoshimura Kaneki, those are Red Scales, and you're Grigori Vinci, grandson of Grigori Rasputi, right?"

He stops, then turns to look at me, blue eyes gleaming. "Why do you want to know?"

"Old fart gave me a letter. Figured it'd be poor manners to let you hang before I delivered it," I say, pulling the battered envelope out. Vinci snatches it from my hands, and shoves it into a pocket.

"I'll read it later. But I need your help before I do."

"You could just ask, if you're trying to convince me to keep you alive," I say flatly, retracting my tails. The idiot grins.

"My way's a lot more fun, though, isn't it?"

"This is going to be one of those situations where I end up as a meat shield while you do something stupid, isn't it?" I growl. He shrugs. "Retrieving my tools is not a stupid action. Now come on. They're in the Marine base, and unless we hurry I think we'll have a difficult time getting them."

He runs off, and I groan. Then follow.

And that, everyone, was how I met my captain.

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Yardam's Marine Base is an impressive set of fortifications, I'll admit- high walls, strong towers, everything in order- but the gate is just...wood. Iron-banded wood, three times my height, but still wood.

And there's no Marines on the battlements or cannon to force me to take cover as Vinci and I run up the ramp towards them. Heh. South Blue security, I suppose.

"One tail, two tail…" I jab forwards with two fingers as I keep running, overtaking Vinci.

"Scale Lance!"

Two tails twine themselves around each other, before shooting forward, slamming into the seam between the gates and punching through with ease.

"Open wide…Kyahahahaha…." The hinges squeal, and I hear shouts from the Marines inside, but despite all the efforts to stop the tails, the gates still open.

Revealing a _lot_ of guns and cannon, and a platoon's worth of grinning Marines. I blink. "Huh."

Gunfire fills my ears. And continues to do so, before finally petering out as smoke fills the air.

I exhale, and relax slightly, letting the shattered remains of cannonballs and bullets slough off my tails.

Vinci laughs. "Dahahahaha...you're pretty tough," he says, stepping out from behind me. "Thought we were gonna die."

"You could look less happy about it," I grumble quietly.

"Crap! I think they're still alive!" I hear a Marine shout from the cloud of gunsmoke.

"Three tail, four," I say softly. "Where's your stuff, brat?"

"I doubt there's a big enough age difference for you to call me that, but like as not it's in their evidence vault. Two floors down, I think. The cells are three down. Pirate crews are in there, but they like to take the captains out for hanging…could come in handy."

"Hmph." I pop my neck. Smoke's starting to thin, not enough to see the bastards, not yet. "I'll cut a path, you grab your gear?"

"Dahahaha...sounds like a plan, bird guy."

There's something looming in the smoke…

I grin as the blade of some ridiculously oversized polearm swings down towards me, held by a giant of a man in a Marine coat, and I throw my tails up, crisscrossing them.

The blade hits them, and stops dead. My grin widens. "Hello, dumbass _._ "

Two tails twine around the shaft as the Marine pulls back the blade instinctively, bringing me with it, right up to face height.

The idiot's face as he sees me heading straight for is going to be a fond memory for years to come.

"Scale Hammer." My tails blur.

I hit the ground before the Captain does. I land on my tails, he lands on his face.

"Commander Akaishatsu! No!"

I ignore the screaming of the Marines as they begin to back away, none willing to run but nobody wanting to fight me. Not after I just knocked out their leader.

I get a glimpse of Vinci slipping into an unattended door, and then look around at the circle of Marines.

"Well?" I ask, my voice carrying. "I'm a pirate. You're Marines. Do what comes natural."

They charge.

Vinci was having a pretty good day, all things considered. Sure, hanging wasn't fun but hey, someone had come to rescue him! Should've known Gramps would've sent someone along.

The fact that that someone was making an excellent distraction and had allowed him to sprint into the main tower of the Marine base without being noticed at all was just a bonus, really. The only problem with that, really…

"Hurry! They need reinforcements at the gate!"

Was that every Marine in the base was heading right for the ruckus, and the hallways he was heading down didn't exactly offer much in the way of hiding spots.

"Hey, wait- a prisoner's loo-"

Vinci hit the squad in the hall before they could even raise their muskets, slamming the heel of his palm into the chest of the closest.

"Cardiac Trauma!"

The Marine dropped, and Vinci ducked the swing of a musket butt as another stepped in, before hitting the unfortunate Marine in the jaw. "Mandibular Trauma!" Two down, four to go. He settled for throwing the broken-jaw Marine at his buddies and shoving his way past the writhing clump of soldiers, pausing only to yank a cutlass from the belt of one of them.

Seriously, they all moved so slowly- the only reason he'd even been caught was because their commander was way too strong, and the fact that Vinci just couldn't dodge bullets.

Well, not yet. A few more operations and a lot more research...but first he needed his tools. This hunk of metal was...not ideal.

Oh, look. More Marines at the stairwell.

"Prisoner loose in-"

He swung the blade, blocking the Marine's own attack, and then slammed a finger into the man's abdomen. _Pressure point, three centimeters below diaphragm_. "Neurotomy!"

The man dropped, legs numb and unable to function for the next several hours. Vinci grinned at the remaining Marine, and brandished his cutlass.

The Marine ran. He'd probably come back with reinforcements, but it didn't matter.

Two levels down, down the hallway in the direction of the entrance, door on the left...no, the _right._ And...it was locked, the door solid oak plating. Well. He could fix that.

"Xylem Trauma!" Splinters of wood went flying, and Vinci stepped in, flexing his hand. Okay, punching the wood hadn't been his smartest idea, regime of augmentative medicines or no. He'd probably snapped a phalange- it'd heal, but it still _hurt._

There were his tools, though.

The lab coat was the important thing- he'd made it himself, out of what white canvas he could scrounge, just to improve its durability, and so it was crisscrossed in rather clumsy stitches holding various parts of it together...but it was still his, and its pockets were filled with a wide variety of useful tools. Two canisters of anesthetic gas, a third filled with a _special_ vitamin, and a half-dozen scalpels went on a bandolier, and his bonesaw rested on his hip. Last was his black bag, filled with the most valuable medicines...and the most deadly poisons. He didn't bother changing out of his prison stripes- not enough time- but he did take a moment to pull on his good boots instead of the slippers they'd given him.

"I should have known it would be you causing so much trouble," a brittle voice said from behind him.

Vinci almost spun, but the click of a pistol being cocked told him that would be immensely stupid.

"Captain Ikasutsu," Vinci said, very politely, as he turned around slowly.

The Marine Captain did _not_ look happy. Part of it was the cracked lens on his glasses, and part of it was the loaded gun pointed at Vinci's face- one of half a dozen he was carrying on him- but most of it was probably due to the cracked ribs and visible facial bruising the Captain was sporting. Bruises Vinci had put there before the threat of being riddled with holes had stopped him.

" _Pirate_ ," the Captain replied venomously. "I assume it's a friend of yours causing havoc up above? No matter, I'll deal with them after I handle _you._ "

Vinci glanced around, and took a step back, raising his hands slightly. Ah. There was the cutlass, right where he'd left it…

"Don't-"

The pistol ball slammed into the brick wall as Vinci faked a lunge for the weapon, then dove straight at the Captain, drawing a scalpel from his pockets. "Incision!" The tiny, razor-sharp blade cut right above the Captain's eyes, and blood practically sprayed from the cut as Vinci forced him back.

 _Ribs on left side are cracked. Possible mild concussion. He'll clear eyes with his left hand, draw a gun with his right...now._

"Biopsy!" The scalpel punched straight through the Captain's hand, pinning it to the gun and pinning said weapon to the man's chest. Vinci left it, and wound up for a kick as the man stumbled back.

"Testicular Trauma."

The Captain hit the ground foaming at the mouth and unconscious.

He knelt down and removed the scalpel, and checked the Captain's pulse. He'd live, the scalpels hadn't cut anything important, missing arteries and bone. Good.

Ooh, and the guy had been carrying keys.

Vinci smiled.

He'd gone to sea to find the secrets of life itself, to create something better than anyone could ever be- and some of those techniques he'd already used on himself, nothing surgical yet but time would tell. But if he got caught that easily again...Yoshimura wouldn't come to save him again.

He needed a crew. People who'd work with him to find all the secrets the world offered, to cut it apart and study it. Yoshimura could be a start, if he was willing...but two people couldn't sail a ship alone, and Vinci meant to head for the Grand Line, where legends and monsters dwelled.

Well, Fate appeared to be looking out for him. Because there were thirty or forty pirates whose captains had been hung today who were awaiting transport to Impel Down. And Captain Ikasutsu had the keys to their cells. Well, now Vinci had them. Hah.

Vinci whistled as he headed back down the corridor, twirling the keys on a finger.

And then the stairs exploded.

* * *

Where the hell are they finding this many Marines? And how the hell did they follow me into the base with a cannon?!

"Fire!"

I block with my tails, but they've apparently learned that regular cannonballs did diddly, because this one explodes, hurling me down the stairwell with a shower of broken stone. Oh, look, stairs.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Oh look, a landing.

Ow.

I raise an arm defiantly as my bones knit back together. "I am okay!"

The grinding noise from up above gives me just enough warning to roll into the hallway before the entire stairwell collapses.

For a minute or so, I just lay on my back and try to concentrate on not being concussed. I don't think it's working.

Mask and jacket are completely undamaged, though. _That's_ quality craftsmanship.

"Well, we're trapped." I turn my head in the direction of the voice. Oh. Vinci. In a lab coat covered in Franken-stitches. Cool.

Yup, definitely a concussion. Heal, damn it.

"Hey, you okay?"

The world snaps back into extraordinarily painful clarity, and then the pain vanishes, taking the floating feeling and exhaustion with it, but making me feel half-starved in the process. I ignore it, and get to my feet. "Fine."

"Great! Then you can help get us _un_ -trapped. Can those appendages of yours dig?"

I look down as my stomach rumbles. Hungry. Can't eat yet, but hungry. "The prison cells. But that's still part of the tower."

"Yes, but you can dig outwards, too, right? And through the ceiling here? Just get us back to the ground floor."

"Then why enter the cells at all?"

Vinci smiles. "Can't steal a Marine frigate with just the two of us, now can we?"

"You. You are crazy." I grin. "I like it."

"Good! Now go beat up the floor until it gives way. Pretty sure the hallways match up perfectly."

"Alright. One tail, two tail...Scale Hammer!" The stone cracks as my tails smash into it, and then crumbles away, filling the air with dust. Judging from the shouting that drifts up from the new hole in the floor, we got the right place. Or we just found a bunch of Marines. Let's find out.

Vinci just jumps right into the hole. Sigh. He still hasn't read the letter, so I don't think I can let him get himself killed. I drop in after him, landing in a narrow hallway with cells on both sides.

Found the pirate prisoners. Yay.

"What the hell...who are you guys?" one of them, a beefy dude with a truly amazing beard asks. He smells delicious...no. Not here.

"I am Grigori Vinci, but all forty of you...can call me _Captain._ Once we get out of here, at least."

I lean back on the opposite set of cells as the forty-odd pirates in prisoner's clothes start shouting.

"Hell no!" "We'll only follow Captain John!" "Are you crazy?"

"They're all dead," Vinci says flatly.

Dead silence. Ooh, I made a pun.

Might still be _slightly_ concussed, too.

"They hanged everyone, were going to hang me, and they're gonna come after me since Yoshimura over there helped me get away. So it's just us." Vinci smiles, and jangles a set of keys. "I've got the keys to the cells, I've got a scary guy, and I've got a plan. So, are you ready to get out of here, or not?"

That's when five sets of chains loop around my wrists, ankles, and neck, pulling me spread-eagled against the bars. Accomplishing nothing save annoying me, really, they can't even pull hard enough to actually cut off oxygen.

"Give us the keys, or he dies!" an aggravatingly deep voice shouts from directly behind my right ear.

I raise an eyebrow behind my mask, and smile at Vinci. "And who would these guys be?"

Beefy McLargeHuge answers instead of the doctor, looking nervous. "They're...they're the Lanius Pirates. They crucify people. Don't let them out!"

"That's right," the voice growls. I turn my head to the side, and get a faceful of ugly. Seriously, nobody should still be alive with that much burn scarring. Oh, and they're keeping me 'restrained' with their own manacles. How cute. "Captain Kaisar got hanged? That leaves me in command. Now let us out, or bird boy dies."

"Heh." Well, guess what? I don't have to worry about going hungry after all. "One tail, two tail, three tail, four. Multiple Scaled Spikes."

The chains on my wrists and ankles vanish as their owners are impaled, and I twist around, freed hand grabbing the burned moron by the forehead as my tails shear through the bars in the process of turning. I smile, and dig my fingers in, feeling skull give way until the man finally goes limp. I toss him into the cell with the others, trying to ignore the smell of spilled blood.

"They are no longer a problem," I say flatly. "Now, if you want to escape, either climb on these tails or on each other."

"What...what the hell are you?" one of the pirates asks. I shrug.

"Either cursed, an escaped science experiment, or one of my parents was a fishman whose fish species had a thing around tentacles. Dunno. Now _move._ "

Vinci tosses the keys into the cell, and the pirates scramble to get the door unlocked. They're distinctly nervous about my tails ferrying them up to the next level, probably because, well, I just impaled four idiots on them. But I'm careful to not hurt them, despite the fact it would be so _easy_ to take...nope. No. Not here.

It takes a while, but eventually they're all ferried up to the second level.

"Alright!" Vinci says, clapping his hands. "So, guys, there's an armory close by, and an evidence room if you want to go-"

The pirates collectively stampede past him.

"-looking…" He sighs. "Plans. Nobody listens to them."

"Because you aren't scary enough," I quip. "Go put the fear of god into them. I'll catch up."

Vinci gives the hole a look, then looks at me, then back at the hole. He nods. "When this is over, we need to talk."

Shit, has he figured it out?

He has. I can see it.

Shit shit shit shit shit. My tails flex, pointing themselves towards him. "About what?" I growl.

"What you are. You're going to be on my crew-" -wait, what- "-and that means I'm going to be your doctor. And _that_ means I need to know your needs. Dietary or otherwise."

My eyes narrow behind the mask. "How'd you figure it out?"

"You started drooling after spilling blood. And...there are legends, from Murky Island, about a tribe of red-tailed, black-eyed demons that ate human flesh in the jungle there, guarding the lost treasure of Black Hawk Sandor. You're one of them, aren't you?"

I should kill him, before one of the other pirates can overhear this, before everything goes to shit. But the thought's gone as he fearlessly walks past my tails, and hugs me.

"Whatever it is," he says, looking me in the eyes. "I _will_ find a way to cure it. A way to let you be normal again."

"And if I like being this way?"

"If you did, you wouldn't bother to hide it," he says with a smile. "So. Do what you've got to do. I'll keep an eye out."

Something in me makes me toss him the tricorn on my head, and sketch a salute. "Aye, captain."

I jump back down into the hole, with the five corpses, and get to work.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

I don't know what I was expecting, but a complete _lack_ of Marines was not it.

Okay, there are a lot of Marines. But they're the ones I already beat into sweet oblivion, so they don't count.

"Where the hell have they all gone?" I muse aloud as the pirates- now rather heavily armed- follow me and Vinci out into the base courtyard. "They manage to chase me into the tower, with a damn cannon, but we're leading a mass breakout and they're nowhere to be seen?"

"Shh…" Beefy McLargeHuge, who's appropriated a gigantic axe, cautions. "Stop tempting fate."

"They're probably down at the docks," Vinci says cheerily.

"What makes you say that?"

"Large breakout of uncontainable pirates, with the Captain and his second-in-command incapacitated, standard procedure is to cordon off escape routes and call in for reinforcements."

Everyone stops running for a moment and stares at him.

"Hey, my Grandpa made Commodore. And wanted me to be a surgeon for the idiots. He drilled me until I repeated transponder snail codes in my sleep."

"Less talking, more running!" I shout, using my tails as makeshift stilt-legs.

I'm not sure what the townsfolk make of this- a bird-masked man running on glowing tentacles, a laughing doctor with a snazzy tricorn and a fistful of scalpels, and forty-one screaming people armed to the teeth and clad in a mixture of prisoner's clothes and whatever bits of piratical clothing they'd decided to take with them. They don't make an appearance.

The Marines, though...the Marines open fire the moment we're in sight, a disciplined line of muskets and cannon.

And, thanks to my outstretched tails, it accomplishes nothing, even as musket balls plow into my unprotected body. I take a step back from the force. Nothing more.

I smile. "Scale-"

" **Out of my way."**

A blur rushes past me, upends a cannon, and begins beating Marines unconscious with other Marines. Just...what. "What...am I looking at?" I mumble to Beefy as we watch the Marines start running in several directions, pursued by the blur.

"Grigori took some weird pill thing, started putting off smoke, and then ran off to beat them with each other," Beefy summarizes.

"Huh." I stare at the chaos. It's ridiculous...and yet mesmerizing.

"So, ship?"

"Yeah, should probably get on that."

We watch for a bit longer.

"Are you _sure_ he should be Captain?" Beefy asks as one of the Marines is sucked into the tornado of violence, and then hurled out missing most of his teeth.

"I don't want the job. You?"

"You think I want the price on my head?"

"Point. I'll have one already anyway. What's your name, anyway?"

"Rubeus Jack."

"Huh. So, Jack, let's go steal that ship."

" _My blood! He punched out all my blood!"_

"Sounds like a plan, bird-man."

* * *

Urrgh. They were moving? Back and forth, on a rhythm. Like a...like a boat!

They'd done it, then. Yay. Also, ow. Head hurt like crazy.

"Huh, you're still alive," Yoshimura commented. Vinci groaned and opened his eyes. Yep. Boat. This was definitely a cabin. Though the lantern burned at his eyes.

"So, mind explaining what the hell you did, why you did it, and why I shouldn't be hauling you back to your grandpa since you clearly need a sense of self-preservation beaten into you?" The...well, demon couldn't be the correct terminology, mysticism like that had no place in the world. Ghoul? He ate human flesh, it was close enough. The ghoul seemed rather unaffected by the whole thing.

Right. He wanted an explanation.

"Monster Mode. I call it that," he managed to say, noticing his throat was dry. Yoshimura handed him a glass of water, and though the effort made his muscles hurt he sat up and drank it slowly, taking in the room. It matched the captain's cabin on a Marine frigate precisely.

The glass was empty already. Huh. "It's an overcharge of my body. I take an Overdrive Pill, something I've made, and it...allows greater...everything, but the consequences are a bit, uh, problematic. What did I…"

"Rendered about three quarters of the remaining Marines unconscious, the others wishing they were, then face-planted into the dock. I dragged you on board. Got my skiff on the way out, too."

"Oh. Good."

"So why do that? We could've taken them."

"Like you said. I needed to prove I was captain. I can't do that if you're the one doing all the fighting."

"Brat. Fine, then. You're the captain."

Yoshimura tossed the black tricorn hat onto Vinci's lap.

"Now go talk to your crew."

* * *

Vinci regains his dexterity with alarming speed, it seems- he could barely shuffle out of bed at first, but a few laps around the cabin and he was moving like normal. And now, with all the assembled pirates were waiting out on the deck, with me at his shoulder and Jack at the other, he looks as confident as ever.

He walks out, and grins in the sunlight, looking out over the waves on all sides. "Well, here we have it," he says. "Freedom. We can go anywhere we please, do what we like. Hell, we're pirates! That's what we're meant to do! But as for me…" His smile widens as he puts a boot up on the railing, and a chance breeze sends his labcoat billowing majestically behind him. "Like I said when I broke all of you free: I've got a plan. Those of you who don't like what I put forth, you're free to leave on the next island. But for the rest of you, the ones who want to see everything the world can throw at you, to find every hidden secret, to live as no poor land-bound bastard ever could...I ask you this. Will you sail with me? To the Grand Line, and to the end of the world?"

The cheering damn near pops my eardrums. Huh. It's not every day you see a group so devoted to committing suicide.

"So what's the plan, here?" I ask Vinci quietly as we head back into the ship.

"What's our state of supplies?" the captain asks Jack. The big man shrugs.

"Could be worse. Plenty of food and fresh water, the ship's well-maintained. Got a few of the crew scrubbing Marine insignia off it or painting it over, and we've got powder and shot for more than long enough, assuming we aren't trying for a full-on battle."

"Funds?"

"Found a strongbox in the hold with a hundred thousand. That's what we've got."

I raise a hand. "Um...there's about a hundred million on my skiff."

"How the hell-"

"I collected a largish bounty before all this craziness. So, that should be helpful," I answer Jack. "Long story, and kinda personal."

"Still, it helps," Vinci says. "Alright. Jack, right?"

The man nods. "Yeah."

"You're quartermaster now. Congratulations. Now, who's been navigating?"

I raise a hand. "Stars and swearing at people, mostly," I admit. "I'm no expert at sailing. Mostly been making for open water, but have a decent idea where we are."

"Can we make Murky Island?"  
It takes me a moment to remember exactly which place he's referring to. It's close to where I started my journey off, as islands in the Blues go. And it's somewhere I really wasn't hoping to go back to.

"Should be pretty easy. A few days travel."

Vinci smiles. "Then set a course, mate. I've got a plan."

"You're hunting for Black Hawk Sandor's treasure?" Jack asks. "Crews _vanish_ trying that, Captain."

"Why would I hunt for something that doesn't exist, or is impossible to find? No, we're going there to redecorate the ship, take on supplies, and keep moving. Murky's the closest island that has a town and doesn't have Marines. Best to keep low and quiet, and do what needs doing."

Jack looks relieved. "Aye, Captain."

"Oh, and could you round up any of the crew with medical knowledge? I'll need to talk to them, got some ideas they'll need to help me with."

"Um...aye, I'll get that done."

"Excellent. Oh, Kaneki, you're now first mate. And in charge of getting these laggards into fighting shape."

"What."

"Fighting shape? I know this crew, Captain, they're all veteran pirates," Jack growls. "If you think otherwise…"

"They're pirates. But we're headed for the _Grand Line._ They'll need to be more than what they currently are, if we want them all to survive," Vinci says. "And I have no intention of losing _anyone_ because we neglected to strengthen ourselves. And my own designs are more...invasive, than I think anyone would want. So, Kaneki, strength and stamina training."

I nod. "I'll see what I can do."

They're a crowd of disparate mooks at this point, so I can't just drop Master Zoss's training regime on them...well I wouldn't even if they _were_ as strong as me, I couldn't find the giant animals to fight anyway.

Still.

I've got a crew, I've got a captain, and I've got a job.

Time to get to work.


	2. Murky Island Arc- Chapters 7-11

Murky Island is...well, a large part of it lives up to the name. Creepy-as-hell forests, shrouded in mist, the fog extending into the town on most days. Despite that, the town's harbor is thriving...likely because many pirate crews make stops here, both the adventurous sort and the greedy. The latter...well, flashes of half-remembered violence and madness told me I'd probably been keeping the South Blue crime rate down rather effectively. Most gave up and left after weeks of being harried by _other_ monsters in the forests, and many just vanished, like Jack had said.

Our vessel is almost unremarkable as it slides into harbor, sails furled and every hint of Marine ownership scrubbed away. We'd even taken a day to pull down the sails and completely remove the Marine insignia, replacing it with the Jolly Roger Vinci had come up with- a grinning, circular skull, lines of stitches leading from each corner of the triangular nose to the edge of the symbol. Getting that on the mainsail had taken just about all the paint that'd been stocked in the hold, but we'd managed it.

My fingers tap a rhythm on the portside rail as gangplanks are extended and Jack starts organizing men to get supplies- first among them, proper clothing. Prison rags weren't exactly the best things to wear. Next on the list was fresh water, food, and whatever citrus could be found. After that, they'd start looking for their own gear, whatever bits of personal equipment they wanted. Minus Jack's official cut for supplies and a good amount held back for emergencies, everyone got around five hundred thousand to do their own shopping.

The town itself seems quiet, shrouded in morning fog. Beyond a rough complement of trading vessels and fishing boats, there's only one other ship of note at the docks- a towering galleon with a figurehead like a running wolf.

"Checking out the competition?" Vinci asks, flopping down on the rail beside me. "Those're the Hound Pirates. Nasty bunch. Probably treasure-hunting."

"Define nasty."

"Oh, the usual. Torture, murder, the odd rape or twelve, really, they're not discriminate."

"Really." I feel my tails start to shift under my skin. "You want me to follow them?"

"If they go into the jungle, see that they don't come out," Vinci says with a smile. "I'd rather not have to deal with them later."

I flip him a salute with two fingers, and leap down to the docks.

* * *

Vinci had to admit- having capable people doing things for him was much better than his original plan of signing up with the first pirate crew that needed a doctor. It let him wander about the town as much as he liked, so long as he kept a Transponder Snail on him.

Kaneki carried one, too, just in case. Though what could actually hurt someone with that potent a regenerating ability, Vinci didn't want to know.

He wasn't planning to purchase anything, and a town like this probably didn't have the specialized equipment he needed, while Jack was busy getting the raw materials he did need. But he wandered anyway. He caught a glimpse of Kaneki, but only barely, as the ghoul followed a grungy-looking man, his first mate de-masked and looking without a care in the world. For once. Did he feel all that guilty about siccing him on the Hound Pirates? No, not particularly. Better he dine on actually evil people than suffer hunger pangs when the only food around was his own crew, and besides, his current demeanor was a pretty big difference from him being grumpy in combat, or a slightly different kind of grumpy while putting the crew- and Vinci- through some of the most torturous exercises he'd ever seen. In Vinci's professional opinion, those were skirting the line between harsh training and outright torture, just barely keeping to the former's side of the equation. Effective, though. Even the weakest of the crew, a 90-pound weakling with the unfortunate name of Digby Sioux, was getting strong, and quickly. It was putting a strain on their supplies, too, fueling that much effort every day. Still, they'd make it work, though it'd be tough going unless they could either steal or make some cash. Maybe he could use his talents?

" _Help! Is anyone a doctor?"_

Well. Speak of the devil and he shall appeareth. Vinci grinned- internally, nothing hurt first impressions like his usual smile when it was a matter of surgery- and followed his ears, taking the scene in at a glance.

Bar, decent enough, smashed window, man on the ground, woman- probably wife- pressing a wadded-up piece of cloth to his torso, not doing much to stem the bleeding. Looked like a cutlass wound, hadn't broken past the ribs but was definitely risking intrusion into the abdominal cavity. Likely fatal without treatment. Luckily, he was here.

He'd already rolled up his sleeves and set down his bag before the woman even noticed he was there, and she recoiled slightly. Oh. Right. Introductions.

"I'm a doctor," he said quickly. "What happened?"

"One of those...those _pirates_ , wanted free drinks. He attacked my husband, then he ran off, he…"

"Okay, ma'am, your husband's going to be alright."

Wound wasn't fatal. Hadn't broken into his guts, which was good. Stitches and bandaging would do the trick, the cut muscles would likely take a while to heal fully but would nonetheless heal. Needle. Thread. Cotton bandages. His hands worked quickly and steadily, knitting together torn flesh and skin.

Man was unconscious, pulse steady.

Stitching, done. Bandages, tied off. And two pirates entering the bar, looking intent on trouble. Vinci closed his bag with a snap, and straightened up, palming a scalpel in one hand and playing out thread for his needle with the other. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, very politely.

"Fuck off, doctor," one growled, cocking a pistol.

Vinci sighed. " _So_ uncivilized. Oh, well. Stitches."

"Wha-"

* * *

Finding one of the Hounds was easy. They were loud, stupid, and practically paraded around with their dog-skull symbol on full display. Keeping track...about fifty of them, decently fed and armed, but definitely not Grand Line material. Not as strong as my own crewmates, one for one...huh. We hadn't given ourselves a name, or given the ship a name, yet. Would have to rectify that at some point.

Anyway, a few hours of watching from a distance gave me a good idea of their numbers. Four major problems, though. First was their captain, or someone who I assumed was their captain. Hadn't been able to get a look at him, he'd been holed up in his cabin, but one of the Hounds had gone in and been hurled out at a speed I wasn't sure _I_ could manage, so that was worrisome. Meant he was a tough customer. Second was a fairly creepy fellow, bald as an egg, in a black cloak. The other Hounds kept their distance from him on deck and in the town. Third was a thin fellow in a full-length tunic of sorts, who carried a long rifle everywhere he went and had a tendency to vanish up onto the rooftops, making my own job difficult. Fourth, and the one I was currently following, was a heavily built man with an absolutely massive sword on his back, a man who didn't fit the mold the rest of the crew set for him. If it hadn't been for the dog-skull on his black coat I'd have thought he was on a different crew entirely. He was actually _polite_ , for one thing. He hadn't threatened to murder anyone, had actually physically restrained someone who _had_ , and generally wasn't a complete asshole drunk on the fact that nobody really dared stop the pirates from doing what they pleased.

It was _confusing_.

Right now, large tall and beardy was sitting at a coffee shop of some kind, with me lurking- yes, that is exactly what I was doing- on a nearby bench.

Hm. Coffee.

You know what, fuck it. Might as well try something direct, and if I had to fight him I'd just use my tails and hurl him into the harbor.

I drop into the seat across from the man and grin as widely and unsettlingly as possible. "You're a very strange fellow, anyone ever tell you that?" I ask.

The man narrows his eyes. "No." He sniffs the air. "You're the one who's been following me all day."

"Fair enough. How could you tell?"

"You smell like dried blood and coffee."

"Really. Hell of a nose you've got," I say lightly.

"You going to tell me why you've been following me and mine around all day?"

"Only if you tell me why someone like you signed up with a crew like the Hounds. A captain like 'Black Dog' Wyald...well, it doesn't seem to fit the way you act."

The man actually growls at me, and puts his elbows up on the table, exposing forearms that look more like chunks of ham. "Doesn't seem to fit _how_ , exactly?"

"You're not a burning pile of dogshit with an attitude like literally everyone else," I reply, widening my grin. "You're actually quite pleasant. So, why sign up with a rapist and murderer?"

"That's personal," he snarls. "Now fuck off."

I cock my head slightly, and stand. "Fair, fair. I was just curious, you know. But can I ask one last question?"

"If you leave me the hell alone afterwards, fine."

"Do you plan to look for Sandor's treasure?"

He folds his arms. "Yes."

"Then try not to die, Hound," I say politely.

Well. Looks like I've got a hunt tonight.

00000000000000000000000000

Rubeus Jack looked at the pinned-to-the-ceiling pirates. He looked at his captain. He looked back at the pirates again, noticing this time that the stitches keeping them in place had also been used on their mouths. Someone- either the captain, or the bartender's wife- had put a bucket under the two to catch the falling drops of blood. He looked back at the captain, noting absently that the five of the crew he'd brought with him were doing the same thing.

"Well. Shit," he said flatly. "What're we going to do with them, sir?"

"Well, I was planning to test a few medical experiments out that I couldn't really use on myself…" Vinci said idly, twirling a scalpel in one hand. "Alternatively, well...I have my own methods of disposing of them." He smiled, very widely.

One of the Hounds wet himself. The bartender's wife hurried over with another bucket.

Rubeus just sighed. "You do realize this means a lot of trouble? The Hounds'll go looking for their missing crew sooner or later."

"Hounds were going to make trouble anyway, just not for us. Now we get to kill them and take their stuff," Vinci said flatly.

One of the Hounds made a whimpering noise.

"Quiet, you," Jack snapped. "Sir, you sure about this?"

"As sure as ever."

"Alright." He pulled his transponder snail from his pocket. "Yoshimura, now. And rope in the main unit back on the ship."

Finding that thing had been a stroke of luck. The captain swore he could get it to listen in one Marine communications, but thus far no progress. Right now the babies were the most-used ones.

 _Puru puru puru ka-click._

The snail's face morphed into a rough approximation of Yoshimura's unmasked face. "What's the problem?"

"Captain picked a fight with a couple of Hounds. What're we dealing with?"

"Fifty mooks, a sniper, a brute, and some creepy fellow. No idea what the captain is like but I'm thinking dumb muscle," Yoshimura said quickly. "I'll take care of the officers. Captain?"

"Well, time to figure out how strong he is and why," Vinci said with a widening grin. "I think I'll take him alive."

"Ship's crew?" Jack asked, trying to ignore his captain's quiet giggling.

"Yeah?" one of the pirates drawled.

"Lock down the ship, load the cannon, and if they start piling onto that galleon, sink them."

"Ayuh, on that."

The snail's face changed again, now trying to imitate Yoshimura's beak-mask. "Looks like I'm hunting early today," he mused.

"What?"

"Ask the captain. Should I start things off?"

"No," Vinci said. "We need time to get ready."

"Uh, guys?" the man on the ship- Nelson, that was his name- said nervously. "A bunch of them just left the ship. Two big guys with swords are leading them...and they're talking about going after...monks?"

"Oh, the guys up on the hill? I'm having tea with them right now," Yoshimura said flippantly.

What?

"Let them," Vinci said. "Let's get these two out of here, yes? And then we go raise hell."

Could be worse. Looting the Hounds would let them augment their funds. Yoshimura's little bit of bounty-hunting fun wouldn't last forever, after all.

And it wasn't like they didn't deserve it, Jack figured, looking at the bartender sat up against the wall, and his wife tending to him.

"Alright," Jack said. "But what Yoshimura said...what is it, captain?"

A look passed over Vinci's face. "I'll tell you when we get everyone back on the ship," he said, cold all of a sudden.

That would have to do.

* * *

Bosque Herman couldn't get that man's smile out of his head, or his incessant questioning. It just kept...gnawing at him.

 _Why sign up with a rapist and murderer?_

Stupid, simple questions, with no idea of debts owed or ties deeper than blood, but annoying ones anyway. He had no illusions about who he was working for. But he could try to keep the worst of the boss and the crew's excesses contained. Couldn't he? Wasn't that enough, to balance out what he had to do…

"You awake, boy?" his captain asked. "I asked if you were ready to head out."

Herman blinked, and nodded, following his captain out onto the deck of the _Devil Dog._ The sea air helped clear his thoughts, at least a little.

Grit Wyald was a giant of a man even in pure human form, twice the size of a normal human, hairy and crude, mostly covered in the massive black cloak he favored. His face looked like it had been carved from stone, with a thick black pelt of a beard providing the role of moss. The hilt of a truly immense sword, a slab-sided thing larger than Herman's own blade, poked over one shoulder. It was a visage Herman had seen every day for the last fifteen years.

 _His home was burned to the ground. He hadn't seen who'd done it, only barely remembered his mother telling him to run, the screams that had made him run even faster. It was only hunger, after three days of starving, that had made him brave enough to come anywhere close to the village._

 _And everything was gone. Just ashes left. And the man sitting in the ruins._

 _The man looked up as Herman drew closer. "So, boy, you survived. Good. You know who did this?"_

 _Herman shook his head, afraid to venture any closer._

" _Pirates, boy. Pirates. Just you and I left, here. So, here's how it is. We go and kill the bastards together, or I leave you here. Which are you going to choose?"_

 _The choice was easy, put that way._

"Boss?" he asked cautiously, as Wyald finished yelling at the crew on board to pull their heads out of their rectums and get ready to leave. "Are you sure this is the way to go?"

Wyald grunted. "Sure it is. The monks...those little bald bastards know more than anyone else in the town. They'll talk to me. Hell, Grit Sandor _founded_ this town, I deserve my damn inheritance. They'll see that."

"Even if they don't believe you?" Herman asked tentatively.

Wyald glared at him, and growled, a sound that practically sent Herman's tail between his legs. "They will. Whether they want to or not." He turned back to his crew. "Alright, boys! Let's go introduce ourselves to the bastard monks!"

 _They'd gotten lucky, this time, finding treasure loaded up on the privateer they raided._

 _Herman almost felt bad about being part of the slaughter, but three years of hard work on a rough crew had told him to bury that deep. Besides, this treasure was worth all the hardship and evils they'd committed to get it, right?_

" _You know what these are, boy?" the Captain asked, holding the two nearly-identical, swirl-covered fruits in his hands. "Devil Fruits. Legends. Power, at a price, boy. So. You ready to get strong enough to take what you want from this world?"_

 _Put like that...how could he refuse?_

Wyald and the Hound Pirates moved out, and as always, Herman followed.

Even if the bird-man's smile nagged at him more and more every moment.

* * *

Dayavin Tenzin regarded the man sitting across from him levelly. The young man had come to the monastery, looking grim, and hadn't said a word since. Considering his silence, though, he'd been polite, and acquiesced to tea. Tenzin did not mind, in any case. Many who came here required silence to order their thoughts properly.

The young man hadn't touched his tea, but as Tenzin watched him he sat up slightly straighter. "I...don't know where to start," he said quietly.

"The beginning is typically the best place."

"Heh. You dispense koans for free like that?"

Tenzin was silent.

"Fine. How to start…"

The young man was silent for long moments. He closed his eyes, then opened them. When he did, they had changed, whites turned to bloodshot black, blue irises a glowing red. Tenzin showed no reaction, but internally he was ready if the young man proved to be some kind of demon. There were legends and rumors….

"Is it possible," the young man asked, "to be evil as a fact of nature? Not due to choices made or intention, but just by living?"

"I would prefer to think that nobody is bound by their nature," Tenzin replied. "What...exactly, is your condition?"

The man smiled. "I'm not human."

"'Human' is a rather broad category," Tenzin said calmly. "You will have to muster more than a serious eye condition to convince me you aren't."

The young man laughed. "You're unflappable, aren't you?"

"I have lived a long life and had few regrets. You feel as if you are evil, that is why you asked your first question. What you should be asking is, if you believe your nature to be evil, whether or not your actions and intentions can outweigh that nature."

"And what do you think, then?"

"That depends on your nature."

The young man sighed. His eyes shifted back to normal. "Fair enough, old man. Not sure why I came here, anyway. No idea what I expected to find."

"Whatever you are looking for, I hope you find it," Tenzin said, as the young man stood.

The young man nodded. "So do I, old timer."

A ring pierced the relative silence, and the young man dug a transponder snail out of his pocket. "Mind if I take this outside?" he asked.

Tenzin nodded, and the young man left.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

The monastery is perched on one of the island's few hills, the tower of the main chapel rising high above the thick outer walls. I perch myself up on the battlements, and watch the Hounds make their way up from the town. That's got to be just about all of them, with the officers, and a ludicrously huge man who _has_ to be the captain, leading the way.

I chuckle to myself, and jump down from the walls, walking towards them with my mask on and my hands in my pockets.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" I ask politely.

I hear the man I'd met with earlier- funny, he looked almost like a miniature, less hairy version of his captain- growl threateningly. "You again."

"Me again," I admit. "So, you the captain?" I ask the huge man.

"Why do you want to know, boy?"

"Oh, just wondering how a man of such disreputable reputation keeps a man of basic civility loyal to him."

"Now, that ain't none of your business, is it?" the big man growls. Aw, he isn't confused by words longer than three syllables. So much for stereotypes.

I shrug. "Was simply curious. Another question: what's your intent, regarding the fine people living in this monastery?"

The captain glares at me. I don't move.

"We're gonna have words with them."

"You need guns for that?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.

"If they decide to keep shut and not tell us what they know, might be," the massive man acknowledges. "Now get out of my way."

I crack my neck in response. "I'm afraid I can't let you hurt innocent people any more than you already have."

"You can't take all of us, boy."

"Watch me. One tail, two tail, three tail, f-"

 _Blam!_

My tails push me to my feet, only for a second gunshot to ring out and another bullet to slam into- and _through_ \- my gut, hurling me against the monastery wall. I grin as the sniper and the creepy bald guy step out from the lineup of officers. The gunman's weapon smokes gently.

"Vasilij, Vandire, deal with him," the captain orders.

"Yes, Captain Wyald," the sniper says robotically, loading another round into his rifle. I hack up blood and force myself to straighten up as my body finally finishes healing the bullet holes. "You'll have to do better than thaaaat~," I sing-song.

* * *

Even as distant as the monastery was from the docks, Vinci still heard the gunshots.

"We're out of time," he commented to Jack. The big man paused in the midst of corralling the various crew members, and looked in the direction of the hill. "I'm still not liking these odds," Jack said flatly. "There's forty-three of us. Fifty or sixty Hounds, probably. And he's alone against all that. Demon or not...not sure I wish that on anyone."

The crew and Jack had taken the news about Kaneki surprisingly well. Maybe it should have been less of a surprise- Vinci knew about half of them had had captains that were as bad if not worse, and Kaneki hadn't actually _done_ anything that hadn't helped them.

There had been a surprising amount of inelegant blubbering from the more emotional crew members, in fact, something that made no sense in Vinci's mind. You'd think hardened pirates would be more...jaded?

Well, it didn't matter. The crew was ready as it would get.

Vinci stepped out onto the railing, and whistled sharply, drawing the eyes of the entire crew. "BOYS!" He ginned. "We're going into a hell of a fight. Over there, one of our own, strong though he is, is fighting alone against sixty hardened pirates led by a man with a bounty of forty million beri. They're a tough and vicious lot….and we, we're the remnants of a half-dozen defeated crews, barely out of prison, low on funds and riding a stolen ship." He paused, letting that sink in. "Or, we were. But now, we are _one crew_ , free men, the finest on the seas. We're the worst nightmare for those dog-loving idiots! Now and forever- WE ARE THE NIGHTMARE PIRATES! SO LET'S GO SEND THEM TO HELL!"

A _wall_ of noise slammed into his ears as the crew erupted into cheers and stormed down the gangplanks in the general direction of the monastery, brandishing a variety of weaponry. Vinci stood there for a moment, blinking.

"I've created a monster, haven't I?" he asked Jack. The big man just grunted.

* * *

"Scale Scythe!"

Herman leapt back as the demon's tails flashed out, barely missing him, and cut down three of his fellow Hounds who were too slow. Vasilij's bullets had torn chunks of flesh from his body, the damn _thing's_ blood was all over the place, but it just healed, and kept coming. Every time one of the crew, even Captain Wyald, made to break past it, it focused on them, driving them back into the fray. Even as Herman waited for a follow-up, the Captain made a rush for the monastery entrance, drawing the demon away and giving the others a bit of breathing room.

"Vandire," Herman growled, raising his sword to ward off an absent-minded blow that nearly wrenched the blade from his hands.

The bald interrogator raised his head from where the ship's doctor had dragged him, ignoring the harried man's orders to lie still so that the demon-inflicted gut wound could be treated. He'd gotten off easy. Vasilij was lying sedated where he'd been laid down after the demon had ripped off his arm. "I got him at least twice with my knives," the man wheezed. "Anyone else should be dead."

They should. Vandire's poisons were toxic enough to put down a gryphon, even with a scratch. But the demon, naturally, just kept fighting as if he hadn't been cut at all.

A barrage of tail strikes drove the Captain back, and Herman caught his eye as some of the forty or so remaining Hounds attracted the monster's attention. The Captain nodded.

Time to get serious.

All it took was a moment of focus to begin the changes. Fur sprouted over his body, muscle swelled, and sounds and scents he'd barely been able to notice before became omnipresent as his ears and nose shifted, becoming doglike. To his side, he saw Wyald undergoing the same transformation.

The differences between them were small. Wyald's transformed muzzle was shorter, his body shorter-furred, but both of them now towered over the demon. Herman hefted his sword, the massive weapon now seeming small, and spoke alongside his Captain.

" _Shepherd Style-"_

" _Black Dog Style-"_

" _-CALL OF THE WILD!"_

The Hounds start pulling back as the captain and his subordinate begin to transform, giving me a bit of breathing room. I jam two tails in the ground and lean on them as unobtrusively as possible, trying to squint past rapidly blurring vision. It feels like my blood is burning in my veins...poison? If it wasn't for my regeneration I'd probably be dead by now. As it is...I hope Vinci and the others show up soon.

I can barely hear them shouting over my pulse pounding in my ears, but both of them charge forwards, blades swinging at me. I barely have time to raise my tails into a guard before they're on me.

Sparks fly from every blow as steel meets the half blood, half muscle substance of my tails, and I'm forced back.

 _Fucking_ Zoans, powered up in their hybrid forms…

The two move like one person. When the Captain advances, his second steps in to keep me from pressing the attack. Where one strikes high the other cuts low. They are, almost literally, a perfect team, and their assault pushes me further and further back until I'm pinned against the monastery wall. And they still keep pressing forward, until it's taking everything I have just to keep them at bay. A tail is sliced into ribbons, another crippled temporarily by a blow from the captain that nearly cuts it apart, and I fall to my knees as both of them slam into my remaining tails with a series of overhead strikes.

And that's when the wrinkly, orange-robe-clad old man I had talked to earlier falls from the sky and hits the captain in the face with a shovel.

000000000000000000000000000000000

The captain reels back, teeth and blood flying, and I leap to take advantage- only to find myself pinned to the wall by the crescent blade on the other end of the monk's weapon, the tips digging into the stone as the blade itself presses down on my neck. I slump back against the wall, letting my tails vanish, and focus on healing, watching and listening while I wait.

"You will not profane this ground any further," the monk hisses, ignoring the horde of pirates and the swords levelled at him by the captain and his subordinate. "Neither of you will spill more blood."

"That a fact, old man?" the captain asks, sounding amused. "Fine, then. Put 'em up, boys."

The sigh of disappointment from some of the Hounds are kinda funny. Less so is the captain's smile. But weapons get put away. I raise my hand slightly. "Um, a little help?"

The monk yanks his shovel-staff out of the wall without even looking at me. I stagger slightly, before leaning back against the wall, acting like I don't care. "What do you want, pirate?" the old man asks the captain.

"I want what's mine by right of blood, holy man."

"By spilled blood one can lay claim to a great deal. You will have to be more specific."

The captain slams the point of his sword into the ground, and leans on the hilt, grinning. "My name is Grit Wyald, and I want my inheritance as Grit Sandor's descendant. That clear enough, old man?"

Props to the old dude, he still looks unruffled. "Sandor had no children."

"Not with his wife, no," Wyald says flatly. "But his blood still lives on. Now, your boys have been here since the town was founded. I'd wager real gold pieces to wooden ones you know where that inheritance is."

"If you go looking for his treasure, you will find only death."

Wyald throws back his head and laughs. "You think I give a damn about chasing some phantoms of gold? I know as well as you do that he sank it all into founding this little shit-hole." His smile vanishes as he glares at the monk. "No, old man. I want what was his. The blade he slew five demon kings with, and the armor he wore while doing it."

The monk doesn't move. "As I said. If you go looking for it, death is all you shall find."

Wyald growls. I crack my neck as my body finally finishes off the aftereffects of the poison.

"I have spent my entire life, to earn what is mine by right," the huge man growls. "Crew, ships, stolen gold and desperate battles...I've done whatever it's taken to become strong enough to gain my birthright. And you think-"

"I know what you've done," the monk says calmly. "You've killed islands, razed towns to the ground. Huir, Trasero, the Benedictines. Sabues, where you slaughtered every man, woman, and child."

"That's a lie!"

Oh? The subordinate's spoken up? And he looks pissed.

"The Silver Hunter Pirates razed Sabues! We sunk them ourselves! You're lying!"

Now why would he care so damn much about one island?

* * *

The monk had to be lying. He _had_ to be.

" _So, boy," Wyald said, as they watched the flag of the enemy ship sink beneath the waves. "How do you feel now? They're dead, every man of 'em. Sabues Island and Kuroso Village are avenged. So what'll you do now?"_

 _Herman tore his eyes from the last pitiful remnants of the enemy crew as the rest of the Hounds left them to drown. "I...don't know."_

 _It had been so long...what else was left?_

" _I think….I think I'll stick with you. Captain."_

 _Wyald's smile wasn't his usual fearsome grin. It looked...content. "Aye, boy. All right."_

The words didn't make sense otherwise. If the Silver Hunters hadn't killed his home, that only left...Wyald. And that was nonsense!

The demon's words echoed in his mind again.

 _Why sign up with a rapist and a murderer?_

Like _it_ was any better! He knew the century-old legends as well as anyone else. The smirking creature who even now was lounging against the wall had done worse than anything his captain had ever done…

"It is not a lie," the monk said quietly.

It had to be one. Herman turned, looking up at his captain, practically begging the man who'd given him the revenge and the second home he'd needed to _say_ something, to deny the monk's words, to tell the man in orange the same thing he'd told Herman, that the Marines had pinned a crime on him that for once he was innocent of…

Instead, he saw an expression that, even on Wyald's transformed features, he recognized. One he'd never expected to see.

Guilt.

"Boy…" the man began.

" _No._ " The word transformed into a snarl halfway out his mouth, and he raised his sword. " _Why? Was it funny? Was that it? Seventeen years of lying to me? Did you all get a_ _**laugh?**_ " The others, the people he'd thought were close as brothers to him, were backing away, and the demon's tails had sprung free again, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the bastard in front of him.

"Boy...I did what I had to do," the bastard said. "That's all I've ever done."

Something deep in Herman's mind made a quiet snapping sound.

The next thing he knew, his blade was caught on the flat of Wyald's own, the man's arm not budging an inch under the force of his two-handed blow.

Then Wyald's free hand slammed into his chest, and he felt stone shatter under his back.

Darkness claimed him.

* * *

I look at Wyald, then at the massive hole his subordinate's flying body had smashed in the wall. I see the steeple crumble down in a crash of masonry, and the monk goes white.

"Go help your brethren," I say flatly, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll deal with this one."

"Deal with me?" Wyald growls. "You could barely hold us off before, boy. What makes you think you can beat me?"

I grin widely, and my tails twitch. "Well, for starters, the angry mob that's coming up the hill."

"Whu-"

I'm in midair before he can fully turn and notice my bluff. " **Scale Cross."**

Props to Wyald, he's fast enough to catch the twin blows of my tails with his sword, right at the crossing point of the two slashes, but the impact alone sends him crashing to the ground, sending up a massive cloud of dust. A cloud he comes out of swinging even before my feet have properly touched the ground.

" **Black Dog Style: Iron Hammer!"**

What-

Wall!

Blinking, I push myself out of the pile of rubble Wyald just smacked me into like a particularly fleshy golf ball. My whole body hurts, right done to the bones. I ignore it. It'll heal.

Don't know where the monk's gone. Don't care. The massive werewolf-man stepping through the wrecked remains of the monastery wall has my full attention.

"Kyahahahaha….come on, Black Dog. Surely you can do better than that?" I taunt.

"You want better, you little-"

We both jump as a massive explosion sounds outside the walls, followed by the roar of what sounds like hundreds of angry people. The hell? Was there an _actual_ angry mob now?

This...was somehow Vinci's fault. It wasn't anything based on reasonable assumptions, more like a feeling.

A feeling that is immediately validated as a familiar lab-coat-clad shape rockets through the air and punches Wyald in the fork of the legs before appearing next to me, grinning. " **Together, then?** " Vinci growls, physically shaking with the effort of staying still.

"Where'd you get the mob?"

" **Town got curious, joined in when we said we were going to flatten these idiots. Now let's gogogogoGo!"**

Rubble shifts behind me, and I spare a glance over my shoulder to see a much battered and re-humaned subordinate claw his way free, clutching a new sword in his hands. "Count me in," he growls, hefting the black-colored...nodachi?...easily despite the fact it's nearly as long as he is tall. Damn thing looks more like a hunk of raw iron than a sword. But hey, more the merrier.

I smile, and tilt my head, making my neck pop.

"You think I'll stop?!" Wyald shouts, forcing himself upright again. "When I'm this close to my goal? When I can see the blade in your hands?! I'll take it from your corpse, you ungrateful brat!"

" **Shut up and die you overgrown mutt."** With that little piece of advice, Vinci launches himself forwards, scalpels in hand. " **Amputation."**

Just like with every other attack, Wyald's fast enough to put his sword between it and him.

But this time...this time the blade _shatters,_ and the Zoan staggers back, bleeding from a half-dozen gouges the shrapnel has gouged in his body. " **Incisions!"** A white-colored blur flickers across Wyald's throat, before a dozen more gashes erupt all over his body, and the giant man sags to his knees, clutching his jugular. " **Full-Body Trauma!"**

I let my tails dissolve as the man goes flying into an intact section of wall, destroying it utterly. I turn to the Hound- well, ex-Hound- and shrug. "So, you seem like a decent guy. What's your name?"

"Herman...Bosque Herman," the man says, staring at the ongoing beating. "That's your captain?"

I grin. "Yup. Real nightmare to fight, ain't he. You got any real attachment to the rest of your ex-crew?"

The man grimaces. "Fuck them. They kept…" He looks away for a second. "Fuck them," he repeats.

"Alright. Well, since you're not part of a crew, why not join ours?"

He blinks, and stares at me. "I was just trying to kill you a few minutes ago. What even…?"

I flap a hand at him dismissively. "Pssh. Kill me? My old master tried harder than that and he was half-dead from old age. Besides, at least I know you're a decent fighter."

"So you're crazy in addition to being a demon."

"Let me guess, legends. And yes, I most certainly am. But I'm honest about it, and hey, where else are you gonna go?"

Herman closes his eyes, and sighs. "Don't you need your captain's approval to recruit me?"

"Right, I'll ask him. Oi, Vinci!"

My captain precipitates out of the air, still shaking slightly and with a distinctly creep coating of blood on his coat. " **What?"**

I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Herman. "Mind if this guy joins up with us?"

" **Dahahahaha, no problem. He'll be...rea** lly...interesting…" Just like with our escape from the Marines, his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp. This time, though, I catch him before he can fall. "You heard him. You coming or what?"

Herman takes a step forward, and stumbles, nearly falling. I grab him as well, getting a shoulder under his arm and letting him lean on me. "Guess so. Come on. When Franky-light over here wakes up he'll fix whatever injuries you got...got to convince this idiot to stop exhausting himself every fight…"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The party's in full swing, and shows no sign of stopping. Vinci woke up about an hour ago, downed a near-lethal amount of rum, and from what I'd last seen was juggling scalpels to entertain a small crowd of kids. Jack was keeping a watchful eye on some of the less...reputable…members of the Nightmares, hammer close to hand.

And me and Herman?

"Okay, I know my existence terrifies a good chunk of the population and I can't eat the food anyway, but what are _you_ doing up on a roof like a particularly mopey pigeon?"

"You're one to talk, bird-boy," Herman growls. I pass him a large tankard, and he sniffs it warily. "Black coffee?"

"It's either that or, well, the scarier rumored bits," I say with a shrug. " _Apparently_ , my captain filled the rest of the crew in on _that_ little secret, so since you're part of it you deserve to know."

"Hmph." He downs the tankard, then shivers. "Shit, now I'll be up all night."

I sit down next to him, looking at the town. The ever-present fog makes the celebration below seem ghostly, almost. "So. Not going to talk about it?"

"Not on your life. It's done."

"Wyald's still alive, you know. Tough bastard, Jack had to knock him out the rest of the way. After we leave, the Marines will take his crew off to Impel Down. They'll rot."

"And you think I should care what happens to them?"

I smile. "Nope. But they're _only_ taking the crew. Not the officers. Those 'resourceful' fellows will 'slip away and escape' while the party's going on."

Herman glares at me. "And you get fed. That the price the doctor agree on, to get you on his crew?"

"Nah to both. Pulled him out of a tight spot, and he's actually pretty charismatic when he isn't doping himself up on some chemical concoction. And as for their 'escaping'..." I shrug, and twirl a set of keys on my fingers. "Well, wouldn't closure help? You didn't get to cut the bastard with that shiny new sword of yours, after all."

I like to think of myself as someone who knows his way around a highly disturbing smile. And so I can confidently say that Herman's expression is at least an 8 on the Mr. Teatime scale.

* * *

The guard, one of the townspeople, had left the second he'd seen the demon's eyes change, leaving the basement of the home they'd stuck the officers in empty, save for the prisoners. The rest of his _former_ crew were in actual cells, but the three dozen or so surviving Hounds had filled the town's jail all the way to capacity.

He had an idea of what was going to happen to the bodies of the ones who _hadn't_ survived.

All three of the crew's leaders looked much worse for wear. Vasilij was short an arm, Vandire had a massive number of red-stained bandages wrapped over his torso, and Wyald...well, Wyald resembled a giant, bearded mummy. All three of them were chained, Wyald to the point that very little of him was visible at _all._

"So, the traitor returns," Vandire wheezed. "Here to gloat? Or here to feed us to your new demon friend?"

The demon in question shrugged. "Eh, I'm good."

"I'm not a traitor," Herman said flatly. "If anything, you betrayed me first."

"We took you in! We gave you a home! Would we rather we killed you?"

A growl cut through the air as Wyald shifted his bulk, the one eye not covered by gauze opening. "Vandire. Shut up."

The bald interrogator fell silent, shooting Herman a glare.

Herman very carefully crushed the feeling of guilt that expression brought to mind under his heel before he turned to his former captain. "Wyald."

"Herman."

"So. Everything you did...it's pointless now, isn't it. Every village you raided and pillaged, everyone you killed...and yet, right at the end, you lost. How does that feel?"

"Lost?" The bundle of chains shook, and it took Herman a moment to realize that Wyald was laughing. "Maybe so, boy, maybe so. But I see that blade. And I know its name. Amakatta. The Great Grade miaodao. How do the monks feel about you plucking Sandor's own sword from the rubble?"

"They haven't asked," Herman said flatly. "What? Me taking it means you've won?"

"Heh...you haven't looted the _Devil Dog_ , have you? You'll know what I mean…"

Herman ground his teeth together. Then he closed his eyes, and breathed out, letting go.

"Yoshimura Kaneki," he said to the demon. "That was the name you chose, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was."

"I do not care what happens to any of these men. Do whatever you want."

The demon looked at the three bound captives, and grinned. Four bloodred tails burst free, swaying like cobras.

And then those tails vanished as Kaneki silently walked away.

"I'm not your executioner," he said flatly as he passed Herman. "You want them dead...do them the courtesy of wielding the blade yourself."

Vandire laughed. "You think the bitch has the balls to do that? He'd-"

Amakatta shrieked free of its sheath.

The Hound officers never made a sound.

* * *

"Where'd you get a guitar?" Vinci asks as he approaches me from where I'm sitting against the mainmast of our ship.

I smile, and strum experimentally at the thing, before frowning and adjusting one of the pegs. "It was part of the stuff on the _Devil Dog_. I don't know...seemed like a good idea to grab it."

"Instead of treasure?"

"What would I do with that? If I need money, Jack'll hand something out. Grabbing a bunch of gold is kinda pointless anyway, and besides, I think disorganized looting-"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

One of the Nightmares actually becomes briefly visible as he flies over the Hound ship's deck, before slamming into the mainmast.

"Kinda pisses him off?" Vinci finishes with a raised eyebrow. I nod. "So, how's our new crewmate settling in?"

"Herman? He's still broody. Can't say I blame him. But he's getting better." I take another stab at the guitar, and tilt my head as I pluck out a few notes.

"Do you actually know how to play that?" Vinci asks.

I shrug. "I'm gonna learn. Feels...right, in a way." A sour note makes me wince. "I'm going to need a lot of practice."

"Heh. Alright. Well, once your frustration gets the better of you, I want you in my lab. I managed to pick up some new equipment and I think I _finally_ have a way to get samples out of you that doesn't have your durability and regeneration interfering." A almost demonic grin flashes across his face. "There is a lot I could learn from how your body functions, and maybe I'd even be able to figure out a way around the...less pleasant parts."

I give him a lazy salute, and return to my guitar-experimentation.

* * *

Herman stared at the letter on the tiny desk in his equally tiny cabin.

 _Herman,_ it began.

He knew the handwriting. Wyald's.

 _If you're reading this, I'm dead, but you've managed to get away, and the_ Devil Dog _with you. Good._

 _Consider this my last will and testament._

 _You're captain now, of whoever's left. That's the first part._

 _Second part...isn't so easy._

 _I've...made a lot of mistakes. I'm not a good man. I never was. I've reaved and raided for decades, with all that entails. And...it's time I tell you the truth about Sabues._

It continued on, telling Herman things he'd already known. Part of him wanted to burn it now, but curiosity- and a need he refused to acknowledge- pushed him on.

 _I understand if you'd hate me by the time you've finished reading this, if you want to burn the ship and all its crew to make up for what I took from you, and I know nothing could make up for what I've done...but you're still as good as a son to me. And if you're reading this after I've finally gotten what I've committed so much evil to gain, if Sandor's arms and armor are still aboard...they're yours._

 _My son._

 _Forgive me._

 _-Wyald_

Herman stared at the letter for several more minutes. Then, slowly, he picked it up and walked in the direction of the galley.

He didn't notice that someone was already in there until he was already in front of the fireplace.

"Something on your mind?" Captain Vinci asked idly, stirring the flames with a poker. Herman caught a glimpse of burning parchment before he snapped his eyes back to his new captain. "A lot," he admitted.

"Hmm. Well, new guy, talk if you want. I'm a doctor, and while my psychological training isn't what I'd like it to be, it's still the best on the crew."

Herman's eyes shot back to the embers of the fire. "Looks like we both have letters to burn," he said lightly. "Yours as dark as mine?"

A shadow crossed Vinci's face. "Depends on your point of view. Some good. Some bad. Nothing that changes my plans."

"Alright. Mind if I…?"

"Be my guest."

Herman tossed Wyald's letter into the flames.

He watched the damned thing crumble to ashes...and let his regrets burn with it.


	3. Armory Arc- Chapters 12-15

I have no idea how Vinci managed to get this much surgical equipment, or how he managed to retrofit a section of the ship's storage to be his lab without me actually noticing. To be fair, I have been pretty bad about noticing things for the week or so since we've left Murky behind. Hell, I'd even somehow missed the fact that we'd painted the ship's hull a distinguished grey with a red deck, or that we'd _named_ the damn thing. The _Ends Justified._ Really? Being a little unsubtle there, Vinci.

Personally, I blamed the horse-doses of caffeine I was consuming, far more than my usual intake, as I tried to figure out how to play the guitar properly. I was doing _better_ , but clearly I needed different priorities if I was starting to miss so many things due to obsession over one task.

"You know, usually when I cut someone open when they're still alive, they tend to be a lot more explicit about it. Especially if they aren't getting anesthetic," Vinci comments.

I don't move, and not just because I'm on my belly while Vinci cuts open my back, exposing my spine and muscles. "Do you have any anesthetic that would actually _work?_ " I ask instead, looking away.

"Fair point. Now, you feel this?"

It's...a strange sensation. Like he's poking at...not a blister, but something filled with fluid. Can't quite think of a word that isn't creepy. "Yeah. Is that where my tails come from?"

"Looks like it. And, here's the interesting part- you've got more. There's two more right here, but there's also a couple other spots...looks like upper back, middle back, and your tailbone all have their own clusters."

What was the official term...Kakuhuo? Something like that, I wasn't well-versed in the lore before coming here and _however_ long I spent being batshit in the jungle, added to the two years of training, has jarred a lot loose, for both franchises.

Whatever. Focusing on what exactly I remember is actually fairly helpful for keeping my mind off the fact that my back is almost-literally flayed open.

"So even more tails, then," I grunt.

"Maybe not. All of the other clusters are...underdeveloped. I'm not sure what would be necessary to make them functional just yet."

There's a brief moment of pressure, and an additional spike of pain.

"Alright. Got my samples, I'll close you up and administer the counteragent for the suppressant."

"How the hell did you even figure that out?" I grumble as he goes to work.

"It's actually a medical treatment for hyperhemophilia. A bit pricey and far too difficult to make outside of a clinic, but it seems to do the trick here."

I freeze. "...do I want to know _how?_ "

"Well, we know your regeneration is centered around your blood, now, dahahaha!"

"Please stop doing science to my body," I groan, resting my forehead on the cool metal of the examination slab.

"Now that I have those samples, plus the bits I retrieved from the Hound officers, don't think I'll need to."

"How is that reassuring, and yet terrifying?"

"Because you know that my research transcends both mundane intellect and almost every sort of ethics laws in existence?"

"If you clone me I will make you eat your own limbs," I deadpan as Vinci jams a syringe into my back and my skin begins to regenerate along the cuts he'd made. When he taps my shoulder, I slide off the slab and begin to pull my jacket back on. Poor thing had taken a beating during my fight with the Hounds, and now my own rough stitches blended into the feather-patterns. At least they weren't totally noticeable, and I'd manage to patch the rents up.

"So, World's Most Terrifying Doctor, initial findings?" I ask.

"Hm...well, based on the initial blood samples...one, you're probably a very shitty prototype for a super-soldier program, two, I'd bet that you're either biologically immortal or damn well close."

I freeze. "Care to explain?"

He shrugs. "Alright, so, I picked up a few strange differences. First, your bloodstream is filled with malformed cells that _aren't_ erythrocytes, leukocytes, or thrombocytes...er, red, white, and platelet cells."

I nod. "I know my biology. No need to elaborate."

"I managed to get a couple isolated, and I'm pretty sure they're what your tails are made of. They seem to be some strange cross between neurons, myocytes, and erythrocytes. They can slot together or separate, they respond to nerve signals, but they thrive in a liquid medium like your blood plasma... fascinating little things. But here's where it gets weird. I tested other blood samples, from the rest of the crew, and I found some that matched. Far _fewer_ , but they were there. And the strongest of the crew had higher concentrations."

"Okay, so?"

"I _think_ that someone figured out that these C-cells- they're shaped like a capital C- existed. They're damnably hard to find and in normal people...well, I had to come up with a specific test to isolate them from everyone's bloodstream except yours. They're about one in a million for anyone else, but for you they're about five percent of the cell life in your blood. But! That massive quantity is probably the secret to your durability, since the cells link together in response to an attack, and to your regeneration since they can coordinate far more easily than a normal healing response."

"And the... eating people?"

Vinci frowns. "I'll need to examine your digestive tract samples, but I think that the hyper-concentration of C-cells needs to be replenished, and that your own body can't do it without outside help. The response to anything _not_ human flesh or coffee is probably engineered in…"

"Why the engineering theory, again?"

"Because I think a large enough injection of C-cells would work to turn someone from a normal human into...one of you. Making a superhumanly durable, deadly soldier, who can grow their own weapons, don't require normal food, and who can take on entire pirate crews single-handed? I'd make these in a jiffy if it weren't for the cannibalism."

"But what about the immortality?"

"Oh, that's easy. Your regeneration probably keeps age at bay. That, and the fact that while the legends of Murky's 'jungle demons' extend more than a century back, they _stop_ being reported almost exactly when you say you left the island."

I let out a breath. "I...need a bit to think about this."

"Take your time. We _are_ pulling into Walker Island tomorrow, though. Did you notice _that_ decision?"

"Hush, you, and yes I did. We're getting the best weaponry we can, right?"

"Black market, but yes, we are."

"Good. You need me for anything in particular on that island?"

Vinci taps a scalpel against his palm for a moment, the glass-edged blade shining. "Hmm. I'll send a couple of the crew with you."

"You don't trust me?" I ask with a teasing smile.

"I do, but try to be nice to them. The less terrified the others are of you, the better."

"Jack been complaining?"

"Your being locked up in your room or otherwise not in the mood for talking doesn't help, either."

I shrug. "Fine. I'll try to be more personable to the crew. Put them at ease."

"Good man. Now, get out of here. I have cell cultures to analyze."

"Ja, ja, I'm going."

* * *

Jack slumped forward, panting for breath. The former Hound next to him did the same, both of their respective weapons being held in death grips.

"How...the _fuck..._ are you...this strong?" the Hound growled. "You could barely keep up with me and Wyald before!"

Kaneki laughed. "What, I could barely keep up when I was being poisoned within an inch of my life, and you expect taking me in a straight fight to be _easy?_ You should know better." The ghoul shrugged. "But let's take a break. I don't think beating the two of you into the ground is quite the objective here. After all, you've still got cardio next."

The man grinned with no small amount of sadism, but Jack ignored it in favor of taking heaving breaths, trying to shove some strength back into his shaking legs. He was stronger than just about anyone else on the crew, but Kaneki- and Vinci- were on a completely different level, more monsters than men. Well, at least in Kaneki's case it made sense. Vinci, though…

Jack shook his head, spraying a not inconsiderable amount of sweat from his prodigious beard, and rolled his shoulders before starting the downright _sadistic_ run Kaneki had mandated for him. There was no real benefit to questioning the origins of Vinci's outright terrifying strength.

Not when he needed to get that strong himself.

Running around the _Ends Justified's_ deck, carrying his weapons and a backpack filled with ballast, put him a step further towards that goal, no matter how bad the ache in his muscles. And he was still doing better on the run than most of the crew, despite being built more like a gorilla with a steroid habit than a runner. It was both baffling...and entertaining.

An ordinary vessel, even in the Blues, couldn't dedicate as much time to mass training as they did and not pay the price in watchfulness and combat effectiveness. And in the South, the wildlife was a bigger threat than that of pirates or Marines alike…

" _GROAARRRR!"_

Case in point, the battleship-sized Greater Aquamarine Crested Serpent that had just surfaced to port, making a threat display to drive them away from its hunting grounds.

What? His last crew hadn't had much for him to do and the only books on board had been on the local sealife. He could practically quote the damn things down to the footnotes.

Jack grinned, and hefted his hammer, all feelings of weariness gone. "Hello, beastie. You're dinner."

"Gruhr?"

One thing the book hadn't mentioned, though, was that Serpents could most definitely show _fear._

"Ukko!" _THWACK!_

One very dead sea serpent and a rather annoyed ship's cook later, Jack caught a bit of space to himself, glad to have finished his training on a high note.

They'd pull into Walker by the time the day was out. And he needed a heavier hammer- this one was practically feather-light at this point.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Walker Island is... interesting. While it apparently provides a plurality of weaponry to the Marines around the world, thanks to the outright massive arms factories that are visible looming in the distance...it also provides, via a thriving black market, arms and armor to pirates and criminals. There's no Marine garrison, and the Walker Arms Company's own goon squad provide all the security, which would explain it. Selling to both sides? That's just good business, especially when the Company can supply the black market through middlemen. All an open secret, but the threat of Walker's armories going _full_ pirate keeps the Marines from taking the place over.

Also, the place is fucking _freezing._ I don't know what meteorological abomination spawned this place but it feels like someone decided dumping a chunk of Siberia in the ocean was a smart idea. I can see my breath, and the rest of the crew isn't doing much better.

Thankfully, one of the things we picked up on Murky was a lot of new tailoring. We have a sort-of uniform now, mostly white or grey jackets lined with fur and with our crew's symbol on the lapel. Subtle? No. But we're pirates, subtle went out the window a while ago. And more importantly, they're _warm._

Only the 'officers' of our crew are exempt from the uniform, but we still show that we're part of the crew- I've used my stitching to pick out the Jolly Roger in white on my jacket, Vinci's done the same with his lab coat, while Jack had apparently gone the masochistic route and had it tattooed on his chest. Herman, for his part, has it on the backs of his gauntlets. The mutt's nose allowing him to literally _smell_ the weather had caused Vinci to appoint him as navigator, which I wasn't disputing in the slightest. Someone else figuring out how to get where we wanted to go was perfectly fine in my book.

"You two ready to go?" I ask, tapping my foot on the deck as we pull up to the docks. If I was still squishy and human, I'd be bundled up, but I'm not, and so the only additions to my jacket are a pair of fingerless gloves and a dark red scarf that's wrapped all the way up to my nose.

The two crewmates Vinci assigned to follow me nod, both of them shivering slightly. Lewo Ostavila's one of the three women on the crew, a tough-as-nails bitch who's one of the nastier knife fighters on the crew. And Dobre Pavilno, while kinda weedy, is still a hell of a marksman.

"Alright. So, we've got a list of hardware that Vinci wants us to acquire, got the money, and got the ability to scare our way to a discount. Any ideas where to start?" I ask as we head down the gangplank.

Pavilno shrugs, taking a drag of his cigarette. "For the small arms? I know a guy, Antonin, who's good enough to get his hands on Walker's latest weaponry. Greedy bastard, but it's worth it."

"And the cannon and blades?"

"Can't help on the heavy stuff, but Fairban O'lean makes his own blades and gear," Ostavila notes. "Good quality. Not masterworks, but it'll last on the Line." She pauses. "Sir, we _are_ going to head for the Line, right?"

I nod. "I'm not sure what Vinci's end goal is, but he wants to go through the whole world, the Line included. Why?"

"It's just...well, it's basically hell."

I laugh. "Oh, you haven't seen anything. It's after you get into the New World that you enter _hell_ , because the ones who make it there? They call the first half of the Line _Paradise._ "

Ostavila's tanned skin, practically turned to leather by years of sun and salt, still manages to go pale. "What the hell are we in for?" she mutters.

"Oh, don't worry. Once you lot are strong enough, I'll start giving you tutoring in some of the _really_ nasty stuff that'll actually let you all survive this," I say with a grin. "Speaking of that, we need some multiple-ton weights, too."

Pavilno makes a squeaking noise. Probably fear. I throw an arm over his shoulders. "Relax, gunner. They aren't for you, they're for the officers. After all, we're going to have to be real monsters by Blue standards to make it on the Line, right?"

"I- I guess you're right," he stammers.

"When it comes to how tough enough training can make people? Of course I am," I say with a smile. "Now, let's go purchase some portable death!"

* * *

Walker Island's black market was most famous for weaponry in all its diverse forms. But that wasn't what Vinci was looking for today. Nor was it the more mundane chemicals and solutions he needed for his work- Jack was handling those purchases.

No, his target today was based around a single conversation he'd had with Kaneki.

" _So, you think all these changes are surgical, or are they DNA-based?" Kaneki asked._

 _Vinci looked up from the slide he was putting together- a blood cell stain. "DNA?"_

" _Um...shit, deoxyribonucleic acid, the basic building block of your bloodline?" Kaneki said, sweatdropping. "Do you...not know about that?"_

"Nobody _knows about that," Vinci growled, slide forgotten. "But apparently you do. Explain."_

" _In the middle of the cell, the nucleus, it's highly compacted and extremely small, but it's basically the code every individual cell uses for building anything living. If you change it you can change physical traits, but you've got to map the whole thing out first and that's kind of a shit-show, and why are you smiling like that?"_

 _Vinci's grin widened as he cracked his knuckles. "I think," he said, enunciating carefully, "that your little tidbits of knowledge are going to be a wonderful gift to the scientific community. Now, are you going to explain_ how _you know all that?"_

" _My past is mysterious, wooooo~"_

 _Vinci felt a vein pop on his forehead. "Fine. But explain_ everything. **Now.** "

" _On it!"_

DNA. Despite Kaneki's reservations, Vinci didn't think it would be so difficult to crack open a 4-letter code based around creating simple protein structures. But none of the equipment he had on board was suited for examining anything that small...hence his sojourn into the black market.

From examination would come knowledge. From knowledge would come power. And from power…

Well. First he had to determine if he could actually _examine_ the things. From there it would be a lot of chemical work and careful puzzling...but he would make progress.

He'd told Jack to purchase specimen tanks for a reason, after all, and it wasn't just for lab animals.

No...it was for something else Kaneki had babbled about. A legend from his home, he said, but the mechanics seemed sound enough...though the name seemed a bit underwhelming.

Primarch? Ridiculous. He knew he'd name this project _Apotheosis._

* * *

"So, thirty-three Kalashnikov semi-automatics, twenty Izhmash shotguns, twelve Dragunov heavy marksman rifles, six Silin gatling weapons, _forty_ Tokarev revolvers...you are making quite a dent in my inventory," Chokhov Antonin grumbles. I don't know why everyone here speaks with a Russian accent, and part of me suspects my sanity would not survive me learning why. But it's certainly made negotiations entertaining. I smile. "Money's good, though, ain't it?"

"Bah! True enough, and I suppose I can let go of that much for what you are offering. As a gift, I shall include a goodly amount of ammunition to go along with your shipment. Call it good will for making such a purchase."

"I'm also told you move weapons acquired...less reputably?" I ask carefully.

"I have been known to do such things, yes," Antonin rumbles.

"Well, what would you say to an assortment of ex-Marine weaponry?"

"I would say you are playing a dangerous game...and then perhaps take them, for a reduced price. Better than any you would get, most do not trade in such things and serial numbers and such will need to be destroyed. Not difficult work but ensuring that my shipments are not traced by the good men in white is...aggravating. We can arrange the transfer alongside my delivery, yes?"

"Not a problem. Here's your advance." I thunk down a stack of bills. "How long will it take to get everything together?"

Antonin shrugs. "A couple days, at least. Moving that much ordnance without it being obvious enough that Walker Arms will 'take notice'...again, not precisely difficult, but a hindrance, you see?"

"Fair enough. We'll be there."

* * *

With most of the crew out purchasing supplies, and no real job to do with the ship safely docked, Herman had decided to meditate.

He wasn't a swordsman- or, rather, he didn't think of himself as one. Being a swordsman implied skill and flourishes, fancy footwork and extravagant bullshit.

Fuck that. His job wasn't to be subtle or quick or deceitful, his job was to cut down the enemy. And... alright, it sounded ridiculous even in his head, like some mystic trying to pull a con... but it seemed like Amakatta felt the same way.

Yes, a blade having a mind of its own sounded nuts, but he could turn into a giant dog, so clearly sanity was long dead.

And so he tried something he wouldn't have considered otherwise. He sat cross-legged on the deck, his sword laid across his lap, closed his eyes, and breathed.

In. Out. With every exhalation, he let go further. Of fear, of anger, of every emotion and thought. His breath steamed in the freezing air, and the cold nipped at him even through his fur-lined cloak. He ignored it.

For long moments, nothing happened.

And then he felt…

 _RagekillhuntbloodformybladeSKULLSFORYOURTHRONE-_

His eyes snapped open, and he stared down at the blade he held in a deathgrip, blood trickling from the palms he'd gashed open grabbing it.

"You…you're a bloodthirsty thing, aren't you?' he murmured. Amakatta seemed to shiver, and Herman grinned.

"I can work with that."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Enjoying yourself?"

I grin at Ostavila's acrid tone, and flip the trench knife into the air, catching and balancing it on a finger. "Maybe I am," I admit. "After all, Fairbain gave us a fair price for the weapons, and Jack managed to find us an ordnance dealer pretty damn quick. We'll be off in a week and there's no problems on the horizon, so why worry?"

She sighs. "Fine. But stop spinning the damn thing around. It's not a toy."

"No, it's a well-made and very lethal weapon," I shoot back, before sliding the knife- a foot-long chunk of sharp metal topped by a knuckle-duster- into my belt. "But fine."

"Why did you go and buy it, though?" Pavilno asks. "No offense, sir, but it's...not as good as what you can already do."

I nod. "True, I'm tougher and meaner using what I've already got. But it's also distinctive, and obvious. If I want to have even a bit of anonymity, I can't just wave my tails at every would-be mugger."

Ostavila leans back in her chair, scanning the bar's patrons again, while Pavilno nods, sending his frankly ridiculous-looking black pompadour bobbing. "Guess that makes sense," he says. "But who'd mug you?"

"You'd be surprised how stupid people can be," I mutter into my (shitty) coffee.

"Personal experience?" Ostavila asks.

I shake my head. "Just observation." A bit of memory flashes through my head, of a certain green-haired idiot getting lost down a straight hallway.

The bar door creaks open, and Ostavila looks up at the sound before freezing. I follow her eyes…

"Okay, should I be terrified or not?" I ask lightly, looking at the man who's just walked in. He wears a blue-and-white full-face mask lined with holes, blond hair spilling down to his waist in a way that would probably make whoever produces Dragon Ball start screaming for a lawyer. Strange-looking bracers on his wrists, probably weapons of some kind, and a sheath at his waist with two blades inside. Not especially intimidating, even so, because he's built like a reed.

He stares at me, and I realize my comment's carried through the entire bar.

"Are you joking?" Pavilno hisses, sweating slightly. "That's one of 'Captain' Kid's crewmates!"

"And you can tell that...how?"

"Because he's got a bounty. 'Massacre Soldier' Killer. Fifteen million," Ostavila deadpans. "His boss is three times that, through sheer brutality."

"Huh." I give the unfortunately named man a nod. "You here to stare or drink?" I ask with a grin.

Ostavila's forehead hits the bar table with a dull thunk. "You're insane," she drones. "Completely and utterly."

"You didn't realize that earlier?" I ask cheerily.

I turn back to Killer, and blink. Somehow the man has pulled up a seat at our table, and has armed himself with a massive mug of beer, with a _bendy straw_ , all without making a sound. And considering we were on the other end of the bar from the entrance...

My grin widens. "You're fast."

"And you're mouthy," the man grunts. His mask turns from side to side, taking in Pavilno on my right and Ostavila on my left. "And fellow pirates," he continues, in a slightly lighter tone. "What's your end goal?"

"That's our captain's call," I say with a shrug. "Myself, I have obligations to be met in the New World, and need to get stronger to survive fulfilling them. You?"

"My captain's searching for the One Piece."

The bar goes still.

And then some idiots start laughing.

I can _feel_ Killer's eyes twitch, and the glare he levels at me as I reach across the table and put a hand on his shoulder.

"How about you dumb fuckers shut the hell up?" I say, voice pitched just right to sound casual but to carry across the entire bar. "The One Piece is real, and-"

More laughing, and my eyes twitch themselves before shifting into black and red. I let go of Killer's shoulder. "My friend, it appears we need to educate these idiots in the finer points of piracy," I say, very calmly. "Do try not to murder them, though. Viscera is _so_ hard to clean out of floorboards, and I'd like to avoid any trouble with Walker Arms's goons."

"Fine by me," Killer says. "Captain wants us to stay low today anyway."

"Ostavila? Pavilno? Watch our backs," I add, picking up a chair and swinging it experimentally.

Everything after that gets a little...fuzzy.

* * *

"So, that's how it started?" Jack said, in a tone of mild disinterest as he watched the chaos raging through the black market.

Kaneki nodded. The ghoul didn't look any worse for wear, and though the two of the crew with him looked shaken, neither of them had any wounds either.

Which was surprising, considering how the situation on shore was rapidly going from 'riot' to 'small war'.

Jack took a deep breath. "And how, exactly, did it turn into...this?"

Kaneki scratched the back of his head, smiling. "Apparently some people believe in the One Piece, others don't, and it kinda...escalated."

"Uh-huh. And the Kid Pirate who started this whole thing?"

"Oh, he's right over there," Kaneki said cheerily, pointing out a small space in the fight where a masked man was using someone as a makeshift flail. "He's got a bigger stake in the fight, so figured I'd let him work out some stress."

Jack suppressed the urge to work out his own stress on Kaneki's skull. All it'd accomplish would be hurting his hand.

"Please tell me you at least arranged for the guns to be delivered," he grit out.

"Small arms, blades, and the chaser cannons Vinci wants for the bow, everything's arranged." Kaneki glanced over at the docks as lines of men wearing brown uniforms and Walker Arms's circle-and-W logo began to converge on the riot.

"You're lucky," Jack growled, and Kaneki cocked his head. "They're stopping it before it reaches the warehouse district."

"So?"

"So we're not stuck here for even longer thanks to the people we paid losing their wares to fire or looting."

"Oh." The ghoul shrugged. "Guess I _am_ lucky, then."

As it turned out, he didn't need to slap some sense into Kaneki's skull- Ostavila was more than willing to do it for him.

It was amazing how fast weaponry could be delivered on this island, Herman mused as the crew fell upon the crates of ammunition and armaments like a pack of starving wolves. Only ten were being held back- literally, in a couple cases- and that was because Jack had conscripted them into installing the triple-barrelled guns they'd custom-ordered the replace the _Ends Justified's_ Marine-standard chaser armament.

"Crazy bastards, aren't they?" Kaneki said from his spot next to him, leaning on the railing. The ghoul first mate grinned. "Getting all worked up about guns and swords."

"Not everyone can be a demon like you and grow their own weapons," he growled back. The first mate just laughed.

"Fair, fair. At least they're not actually fighting each other over them."

" _HEY, YOU ASSHOLES!"_

"Huh, well, a fight found us anyway," the first mate deadpanned. Herman just stared. Some ostentatious-looking fucker who smelled of hair gel and murder was shouting obscenities from the edge of the docks, accompanied by the masked guy Kaneki had talked about.

Hadn't that guy been locked up during the riots?

Meh, pirates, he probably broke out or got broken out. Herman was actually a little surprised it had taken a week.

"What fresh hell is this?" the Captain growled as he stepped out onto the deck.

"Pretty sure Captain Kid's pissed at us for some reason. Not sure why, I was on the same side as his guy during the brawl last week," Kaneki mused.

Vinci sighed. "Okay. I'll find out what's going on." He stepped up onto the rail, straightening his tricorn. " _WHAT DO YOU WANT?"_

" _FUCK YOU THAT'S WHAT! YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO BREAK SOMEONE OUT WITHOUT ALERTING THE ENTIRE FUCKING ARMS COMPANY ABOUT IT? REALLY FUCKING HARD! I WANT MY POUND OF FLESH, ASSHOLE!"_

"Kaneki, are you _sure_ you didn't fight any Kid Pirates during the brawl?"

The first mate cocked his head. "Killer over there had my back. But I'm pretty sure tall, ginger, and veiny over there isn't thinking rationally."

"Okay, great. _WE DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR GUY GETTING LOCKED UP! GO BEAT UP WALKER IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT SOMEONE!"_

" _FUCK YOU YOU STITCH-LOVING WEIRDO! YOUR BOYS STARTED THE DAMN BRAWL IN THE FIRST PLACE, NOW COME DOWN HERE AND TAKE YOUR DAMN LUMPS!"_

The Captain sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's not going to leave unless I fight him, is he?"

"Nope," Kaneki and Herman said simultaneously.

"Wonderful. Herman, get us ready to sail. I don't know how tough this guy is but I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to. Kaneki, handle Killer."

"Damn. Do I have to-"

"Don't kill him, just keep the crew and the ship safe."

"Fair."

Vinci vaulted the rail, and Kaneki followed.

Herman, for his part, started yelling at the crew to get their asses onboard.

What? It wasn't like Vinci was going to lose to a two-bit punk like Kid. Wyald had nearly three times the bounty, and he'd been beaten like a steel drum. Victory was certain.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"So, you seem pretty level-headed, why sign up with the angry ginger?" I inquire curiously, deflecting a swung scythe with my knife.

" _God damn it Kaneki, you don't get to do that to everyone you meet!"_ Herman yells from the sidelines.

I flip him off and then duck another one of Killer's telegraphed blows. Neither the masked man and I are actually fighting, more just throwing random slashes at each other so that nobody gets hurt. Vinci had gone Monster Mode and yanked Kid off somewhere at ludicrous speed, and I'd sent Pavilno and Ostavila in their general direction with a transponder snail, just in case.

"Kid? We've known each other since we were little," Killer says flatly as he blocks my knife on the flat of his right scythe. "He's an asshole, sure, but he's got a dream and I'll be damned if I don't help him achieve it."

"Gonna be kinda hard once my captain beats him down for his dickishness," I say with a smile. Killer just grunts, and swings a bit harder than normal, forcing me back a step.

There's silence for several minutes as we put on a show, neither one of us really willing to actually _fight._ Then Killer speaks again.

"This is stupid."

I grin. "Fighting because our captains our when our crews don't really have anything to fight over? Yeah."

Killer lowers his scythes. "Fuck this. Do you know how to play chess?"

Huh. I smile. "Yes. Yes I do."

* * *

The South Blue Marine Headquarters was a massive edifice, a perfect example of centralized power and grandeur.

It was also drowning in paperwork.

Marineford only concerned itself with assigning bounties to pirates that made a real name for themselves, the edge cases that might actually make it onto the Line. Less than one in a hundred of the pirate crews out there both _wanted_ to and were _able_ get past Reverse Mountain. That left the other ninety-nine to SBHQ, and while they weren't the island-obliterating, all-destroying threats that their ilk on the Line could be...they still were threats to the people of the South Blue.

And right now the proverbial smoke-filled room where bounty prices were assigned had someone new to worry about.

Five men sat there. Three were responsible for the smoke in the room, all of them going through cigarettes as though there was no tomorrow. One man, in a pure white coat, sat at the head of the table, the remaining four split evenly on each of his sides. Each of the four lacked coats, instead wearing basic suits.

"We're certain _he's_ the captain?" one, a man with a small goatee, asked.

"We weren't sure initially, given the subordinate taking the lead in the prison break...but after what happened on Murky Island we're sure of it." his opposite number replied.

"Taking down a pirate like Wyald...how much damage did that cause?"

"Surprisingly little. The subordinate concerns me more, to be honest."

"Hmph. He should," The oldest-looking man among the five stated. "Given what little we've found of the Lanius Pirates, and the 'escape' of the Hound officers…"

"Don't tell me you think that backwoods superstition is true?"

"I don't. But it's more than possible a fishman or Devil Fruit user is taking advantage of it. Or that we have someone who _believes_ they're one. Right down to the cannibalism."

The man at the head of the table leaned forward. "And the brat has managed to get someone like that in his service. To say nothing of the other pirates he's pulled together under his banner."

"Commodore...they're dregs," the goateed man said.

"They're dregs that he had the charisma to rally together and rebrand as a new crew," the man at the head of the table countered. "Look at the facts. Rubeus Jack, bosun of the Account Pirates. Bosque Herman, third mate of the Hound Pirates. Various members of the defunct Account, Trawler, and Eyetooth crews. And a monstrously strong individual who managed to put a third of Yardam's garrison in traction on his own and who needed heavy artillery to be _delayed._ Add to that the fact that his grandfather was an ex-Commodore who responded to a request to speak with him with _high explosives_ , and we may have a situation. The only reason I am not advocating for a task force being assigned to crush these...Nightmares...is because he seems to be a _moderating influence_ on a collection of disparate monsters. As it is...the bounty stands. For both him, and his officers." The man stood, and walked over to the wall-length window that dominated the window, looking out over the town. From this high up, they could see the edges of the harbor, and the cages and gibbets that served as a warning to every pirate that had ambitions in the direction of the Line.

"And if he comes here... _when_ he comes here...we will crush him," he said.

* * *

"Check. And mate."

I glare at the chessboard, then at Killer. "How the hell are you this good?"

The man shrugs. "Practice."

"Knew I should have suggested poker. You can cheat at poker," I grumble.

"You'd also lose money at poker," the man says. He's smiling. I can tell.

Where someone like him got a chessboard, I have no idea, but at least someone dragged over a few crates for us to sit on and play. The rest of the crew's keeping a distance- I think they're not too certain of how to handle something like this.

"Urgh, fine. Play aga-"

 _Puru puru puru-click._

"What?" I ask flatly.

" _Oh, God…"_ Pavilno sobs.

Oh, shit.

" _Vinci...THE CAPTAIN'S DOWN!"_

I'm fast. Killer's faster…

But he is not prepared for me to raise my hand and simply _catch_ the scythe he swings at my head. Nor is he prepared for my tails to burst free and strike. One coils around his ankles, a second seizes him by the throat. The last two crush the mechanisms of his scythes- and, judging from the splintering noises, breaking at least one bone in the hands and wrists under them.

"I'm sorry about this," I say quietly. "But my crew comes first."

"Heh- _argh_ \- I'd do the same." The masked man looks at me. "Looks like I've lost. Maybe if you hurry, you can trade me for your captain."

I shift my tails slightly, coiling one so that Killer is held aloft, arms pinned to his sides.

And then I run, as fast as I can.

My captain needs me.

* * *

Vinci knew he was done.

The frenzied high of Monster Mode had come and gone, and it had taken everything he'd had to stay standing after that. His breathing was erratic, each gulp of air seeming to weigh a ton.

He'd thought he could take the hotheaded idiot before the effects wore off. And judging from the way the bastard was favoring his right side and not moving the arm where Vinci had grazed him, if he'd actually been able to _hit_ the bastard it would've been a short fight.

But instead he'd had to waste precious time as the bastard pulled a _storm_ of weaponry out of the buildings around them, bullets and blades keeping him at bay and on the run.

Two daggers hurled themselves at him, and he couldn't muster up the strength to dodge.

Upper thigh. Left shoulder. Pain.

"Fuck, you were a tough bastard," the idiot said, walking closer, dagger in hand.

Vinci managed to force his head upright, and glare at him. The idiot's sneering smile vanished, and Vinci's vision swam as a fist cracked against his skull.

"You going to look at me like that? Savor that. It'll be the last thing you see."

The knife moved.

Vinci's world went dark.

It didn't end, though.

"You're gonna remember me. You and your whole damn crew."

The knife cut again, carving a matching pair of lines on his face.

"You're gonna remember right up to the-"

" _ **Enough.**_ "

He couldn't see, could barely think past the pain. But he knew that voice.

Kaneki had come.

Pressure at his neck, cold metal. "Get the hell back!" the idiot shouted. "Or I kill him now."

"Do that, and your first mate dies as well. And then you."

"You think you can take me?"

"It is not about thought. Let him go, and I'll let mine go. Nobody else gets hurt today."

The knife at Vinci's neck vanished, and he was shoved forward. Before he could hit the ground, something warm wrapped itself around him. To his pain-addled brain, it felt... comforting.

He didn't hear what happened next, or feel Kaneki's stride. Instead, he slipped away into unconsciousness.


	4. Crucix Arc- Chapters 16-24

"How's he doing?"

Oyeplet Akis- one of the four people Vinci had been educating on medical techniques- shrugs, lighting a cigarette. "He heals fast, I'll give him that. We'll be able to take out the stitches in a couple hours, and the knife wounds didn't hit anything vital…"

"You're stalling."

He exhales a cloud of smoke. "We couldn't save the eyes."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. We're waking him up soon. Hopefully he'll have something to figure it out in his head."

"That's the best you can do?" I ask.

Akis doesn't react, beyond glaring at me. "We've been learning for barely a month. We could _handle_ normal injuries, but we can't put a new set of eyes in his skull that easily."

Breathe. In. Out. "Okay. I'll be up on deck. Let me know when he wakes up."

"Already planning on it."

Pravilno and Ostavila fall in behind me as I walk, silent.

The bright light and the smell of the sea aren't much comfort. We'd left Walker behind in a hurry, as soon as we could get everyone on board. And…

"So do we have a heading or does he want us to go kill the bastards?" Jack rumbles, arms folded.

I stare the bearded man down. "He's still unconscious. But we've got a heading anyway. Herman!"

"What?" the dog-man grumbles, leaning on the quarterdeck railing.

"Crucix is the closest island without a Marine garrison, right?"

"So we're running," Jack says sourly. "That's your call? Didn't take you for a coward, ghoul."

"We take on the Kid Pirates...we already nearly lost the Captain. And it ain't my call to ask you to die...or to leave our Captain where he _would_ die if I fought and killed the bastard."

The big man grimaces. "You certain of that?"

"Magnetic abilities. He already had Vinci by the throat, I had to talk fast to get us both out of there alive. You think you'd have the stones to make that kind of choice? Warring with some hotheaded punk would get us nowhere."

Jack doesn't say anything, but he stops looming so obviously.

"Herman. Course, Crucix. _Now._ "

"On it!" our navigator yipes, before vanishing back to the tiller. I stare at the few crewmen on the deck. "Got something to say?" I ask coldly.

"The captain gonna be alright?" one of the men asks.

"I…"

Crew of hardened killers, like as not they'll turn on Vinci if they think he's weak.

And yet…

And yet.

They didn't turn on me. Or even try. They've let Herman into their ranks. They've...fuck it. If they pull anything, I can sail this ship on my own if need be. Would have plenty of supplies to do it with.

And that was an entirely horrifying thought. Moving on!

"I don't know," I admit quietly. "More likely than not, he'll pull some science out of his ass and be back to full strength or better soon as he wakes up. But...hell, I don't know. But I know what we're going to do on Crucix..."

I grin as the crewmen lean forward, so obviously curious it hurts.

"We're going to park ourselves on the island, away from prying eyes, and I'm going to put every one of us through training that will ensure even little asthmatic Timmy over there-"

" _FUCK YOU, IT'S HAY FEVER!"_

"-can force-feed Kid his own feet next time we run into him. And I'm going to train myself, the captain, and the other officers using every scrap of knowledge I can find, and make sure this _never_ happens again. So get your asses in gear and _start sailing._ "

The men practically sprint to their stations on the sails. I smile thinly, and walk back inside. It's the work of a moment to get what I need from my cabin.

Fingers on the frets and the strings.

Breathe in. Out.

And play.

" _The King and his men_

 _stole the Queen from her bed_

 _and bound her in her bones_

 _the seas be ours and by the powers_

 _where we will we'll roam…"_

Silence holds out for a moment, and then Pravilno nods, joining in as I keep going. A few bars in, Ostavila adds her voice.

" _Yo, ho, all hands_

 _Hoist the colors high_

 _Heave, ho, thieves and beggars_

 _Never shall we die!"_

That seems to be the spark, and as I keep playing, eyes closed, a violin adds its tune to the dozen-odd voices on deck, mournful and slow.

" _Now some have died_

 _and some are alive_

 _and others sail on the sea_

 _with the keys to the cage_

 _and the Devil to pay_

 _we lay to Fiddler's Green."_

I feel the ship turn as the sail catches the wind, seemingly straining to run with the music as the chorus roars out. It shouldn't be this easy to play, to sing in tune, and yet it is. It's as though I'd been playing this instrument my entire life. I don't question it. I just play.

" _Yo, ho, haul together_

 _Hoist the colours high_

 _Heave, ho, thieves and beggars_

 _Never shall we die!"_

The click of boots on the deck and the sudden silence that falls make me open my eyes.

Vinci.

The docs had been kind enough to give him a blindfold. But the wounds were still obvious, barely healed- only healed at all thanks to whatever he'd been dosing himself with since I'd met him. One on each side, stretching from the corners of his mouth up to his ears, crossed by the parallel lines of deceptively neat slash marks from where there'd been stitches. Two more, the right slashing across the left, where his eyes had been.

He smiles, and gestures for me to keep going.

" _The bell has been raised_

 _from it's watery grave_

 _Hear it's sepulchral tone._

 _A call to all_

 _pay heed the squall_

 _and turn your sails to home…"_

His voice fades away, a moment's rest, and then…

" _YO, HO, HAUL TOGETHER!_

 _HOIST THE COLORS HIGH!_

 _HEAVE, HO, THIEVES AND BEGGARS!_

 _NEVER SHALL WE DIE!"_

And as the last notes fade away, Grigori Vinci, our blind, mad, and fearless captain, throws back his head…

" _DAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHA! THAT'S MORE LIKE IT, YOU BASTARDS!"_

And laughs.

* * *

The screams stopped.

They had been going on for ten hours, and at last, they'd stopped.

Herman was probably the only one who'd heard them. None of the others had the hearing his Zoan fruit granted him, and he knew who'd been screaming.

And why.

The lab that was shoved into the cargo hold had thick walls, thick enough that he couldn't hear anything that wasn't on the level of that damned caterwauling, but they hadn't talked about it in the lab. He'd heard all of it- Kaneki's quiet acceptance, Vinci's grim talk of necessities, Akis's objections. Parts of it had been obscured by the sea and the need to keep the _Ends Justified_ on course...but he'd heard enough.

Whatever Vinci had been working on wasn't properly ready. But the Captain wanted it done anyway. And he had need of Kaneki's eyes, to replace his own, and his tails, to cut quickly and efficiently.

The sound of the ghoul ripping out the former was still keeping Herman up at night. And was throwing off his sparring with the man, who didn't look hurt at all.

He pushed it out of his mind, and turned the wheel a few degrees to port, sniffing the air. The wind was with them, and if it kept up they'd make Crucix very soon.

But why had the screams stopped? Could the Captain be-

 _SLAM!_ "YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE! HOW MUCH THIS HURTS!"

Oh, never mind, he was fine.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

That is a _lot_ of smoke on the horizon.

"That's definitely Crucix," Vinci muses, one hand on the rail and the other holding his tricorn in place against the gusts of wind. His new eyes...well, they aren't his old color, or mine- either of them- for that matter. The irises gleam gold in the sunlight. "Now, what the hell happened?"

"Pirates, probably," Jack mutters. "No permanent garrison, they'd be easy pickings for a crew that wanted to take the town."

"Hmph. Kaneki?"

"Well…" I shrug. "If they aren't going for Marines, and just want to hurt civilians...probably weak. We gonna fight them?"

"If it is pirates, and they're the reason for that smoke...yeah. Spread the word, I want the Sirins manned and cannon loaded."

"I'll get on that, then," Jack mutters, before turning and leaving with his hammer on his shoulder.

There's a moment of silence. Vinci scratches at his chest, where I know the Y-shape of the surgical scars are still healing. I should know, I put them there.

"You holding up alright?" I ask, too quietly to be overheard.

Vinci grits his teeth, and I see his knuckles go white as he grips the rail tightly. "I'll be fine," he says flatly.

"One tail." The appendage whacks Vinci across the back of the head, dislodging his tricorn. Vinci whirls on me with a snarl, and I let it dissolve.

"You're being broody. That's my job," I say with a smile.

"Fuck you, Kaneki."

"You're not my type, Stitches-for-Days."

" _Jesus._ Why- argh! Why aren't you worried about this? Why doesn't anyone seem to care that I _lost?_ I...I failed. I'm the _captain_ , I'm supposed to be stronger than that."

I shrug. "It happens. Is it gonna happen again? No. And nobody else got hurt."

"But I-"

"Vinci. Stop being an idiot."

"Pretty sure I'm supposed to give the orders," Vinci mutters, picking up his hat.

"Doesn't change the fact that you need to stop being an idiot. Look. I'm still not sure what you had me cut you open to implant. I'm pretty sure you aren't entirely sure what it'll do either. But you'll get stronger. Probably stronger than me, if you've got the willpower. Doesn't matter if you lost one fight. You won't lose another...and hey, if you need practice, I'm betting we've got a crowd of assholes to fight soon enough. What the hell brought this funk on anyway?"

Vinci glances at the smoke on the horizon. "Don't know. Whoever is responsible...the thought of pirates doing that reminds me of the flame-haired bastard, I guess. Also, damn scars itch. They should be healed by now."

"Red Scales...well, they don't leave what they touched unmarked."

"You do realize I'm going to need samples to figure out the mechanics behind that quasi-mystical bullshit you just said, right?"

"Save the syringes and knives for after we help the village, you nutjob."

"Fine, you ungrateful Luddite."

"Pretty sure I'm not against technology."

"Well, I couldn't think of a better phrase. You're too philosophical to be a Philistine."

I suppress a smile as Vinci grins. There. Mission accomplished.

* * *

There was a chill in the air, and as far as Herman was concerned it had nothing to do with the freezing winds that had propelled them from Walker Island, or the generally cold climate in this region of the South Blue.

 _Ends Justified_ swung into Crucix's harbor with cannon out and utter silence among the crew.

Kaneki tapped Herman on the shoulder, and pointed silently to starboard. Herman followed his finger, and caught a glimpse of a burned-out hulk, charred right down to the waterline. Even with the black char, the green of the Marine-issue hull paint could be seen.

And the smoke...the smoke was upwind, but he could catch what it smelled like.

Kaneki licked his lips. "Someone is cooking long pork."

Herman suppressed a shudder at the ghoul's expression, and focused on more important things. Like shouting at the more hapless crew members to take in the damn sails, did they want to ram the island, lower the damn anchor, et cetera.

It gave him time to watch the docks, as well.

They were...pristine. There was no sign of battle, not even scorch marks. If it hadn't been for the remnants of the Marine vessel and the half-dozen other boats- small fishing vessels- tied up on the docks, he'd even call them deserted. As though the island had been emptied out, leaving only the smoke and bodies that were certainly deeper into town behind.

Jack visibly shivered. "This place ain't right," he said flatly.

Kaneki's nose wrinkled, and Herman sniffed the air before frowning himself. Something...wasn't quite right, exactly as Jack said.

Herman nodded to the guy hanging at Kaneki's left shoulder- the one with the Yakuza pompadour and the pistols- and gestured him over. "Got more of those?" he asked, pointing to the lit cigarette in the man's mouth. Pompadour nodded slowly.

"Hand them out."

"Why?"

"Because if I have to keep smelling human bacon I'm going to probably go insane with paranoia," Kaneki added, interrupting Herman. "Pass them out, Pravilno."

"Fine, fine...crazy bastard."

The tobacco-smell was almost overpowering, and Herman resisted the urge to wheeze- an urge Kaneki succumbed to with ease- but it was still a lot better than the previous scent.

Vinci leaned on the rail, his usual smile looking strained. "Jack, Kaneki, keep an eye on the boat. Herman, get ten men, you're with me. We need to figure out what's going on here."

Why him? Kaneki was the stronger fighter, and Jack had a cooler head. He was just...oh.

Take the navigator and the captain, and even if most of the crew got it into their heads to run they wouldn't be _able to_. Clever man.

Granted, Kaneki probably wouldn't run, unless it was towards the smell. Creepy cannibal bastard.

Herman took a drag on his cigarette and started shouting again. It didn't take long before ten men- some of them looking rather annoyed at having lost bets or other contests with their counterparts staying aboard- were joining them in walking down the gangplank and into the still too-silent town.

Screw this. There had to be _something_ , even if in human state his ears weren't good enough to pick it up. It was the work of moments to shift fully over to his animal form, dropping forward onto four legs as his cloak and clothes melted into his fur. Amakatta remained on his back, its sheathe held in place by a braided leather cord. He loomed over Vinci, and the man smiled. "Nice doggy."

Herman shook himself, and padded forward, sniffing at the air. There. A scent of living, breathing human, thin under the smoke and burnt-flesh stench, but there.

He bounded forward, and the others followed him in the hunt.

* * *

" _Well I know of sin by the things momma prayed,_

 _An' I know of Heaven by the line at its gate._

 _I know of Truth and the Grand Line's way,_

 _Some come drink the water if you wanna be saved."_

" _Don't drink the water if it's not from my stream,  
It's all still water if it's not flowing free.  
Don't drink the water at the watering hole,  
Cause if you ain't got money, it can't save your soul."_

My memories are strange, I decide. They're so tattered I can't remember what my name used to be, what my age truly is, what I did during what was apparently a century or more of jungle-wandering...and yet old songs come as easily as what I ate for dinner last week.

Old songs and-

 _I WILL BE THE PIRATE KING!_

 _A man's dream will never die!_

 _That is a captain's burden. Don't hesitate. Who are we going to rely on if you falter?_

 _Aren't you the one being hurt? The government says your existence is a crime, but no matter what kind of weapons you may hold, just being alive isn't a sin! THERE'S NO CRIME IN LIVING!'_

 _Death...is never an apology!_

 _They think that... something so trivial... can kill me... I need no assistance... I... I am... I! AM! WHITEBEARD!_

 _Fall, Noah…._

 _D. shall bring forth a storm once more…_

- _other_ things, impossible things. And yet I know they're true. That everything around me I once read as fiction...well, at least I know how destiny is supposed to go. Might as well be there when everything goes to shit.

I pause, realizing I've stopped my song, and shake my head before returning to the tune, letting it echo in the empty streets.

Jack's keeping in touch with Vinci and the recon group. He'll tell me if something goes wrong. For now, why worry?

" _And all God's people_

 _Said amen_

 _And all God's people_

 _Said amen."_

There's something moving, in the shadows, coming closer to where I sit at the base of the gangplank. I don't show any sign I've noticed, and judging from the sounds coming from the ship none of the crew have noticed- that or they're smart enough to imitate me.

" _I know of sin by the things momma prayed,_

 _I know of heaven by the line at its gate._

 _I know of truth and the Grand Line's way,_

 _So come drink the water if you want to be saved."_

Whoever they are, they're clever enough to avoid notice, keeping to the lengthening shadows...but it's not enough to really mask their smell...fear. Fear and adrenaline, barely kept running.

" _Nobody prays unless they lose a son._

 _They don't believe in God 'till there're wars to be won._

 _But I know of lies by the truths I been told,_

 _And the biggest one's that we're not growing old…"_

I launch into the last bit of the song with intensity, and am rewarded as the runner stumbles, falling to the cobblestones with a bit-back cry.

" _It's not a sin if it don't make me cry!_

 _He's not the devil 'less there's fire in his eyes!_

 _Oh it ain't the Ghost if it don't speak in tongue,_

 _And it's not a victory till the battle's been won…"_

They get up slowly, staring at me.

" _And all God's people…_

 _Said amen._

 _And all God's people…_

 _Saaaiid Aaaamennnn…."_

My eyes flick over them, evaluating. She's young, can't be any older than I appear to be, skin the same nut-brown shade Zoss's was, black curls held back in a bushy ponytail. She stares at me, then at the ship, eyes watching the sails and the men on board.

Pistol at her hip, but the rest of her clothes look hard-worn, the knee of her pants torn open over a bleeding gash she's clearly earned from her tumble and is just as clearly ignoring.

"You're...you're pirates."

Okay, pretty standard reaction…

"Thank God."

Aaaand that isn't.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It only took minutes before they- and by they, Vinci really meant himself and Herman- heard it.

It was a wonderful and terrible thing he'd done to himself, really. Even he wasn't sure what the end results of implanting the prototype King's Heart into himself would be. The initial ones, though…

His senses had caused him a lot of pain, and it'd taken hours to adapt to them. Hours that had been spent screaming his throat raw, never stopping as accelerated healing kept his vocal cords in top condition…

Nope, not thinking about it.

Still, it'd been worth it. Everything,scent, sound, sight, _everything_ , was clearer and sharper. The shadows hid nothing. And he could hear every word of what was unmistakably a sermon.

" _-vigilance, my brothers and sisters. We have built our kingdom, and God's gifts let us defend it from the tyranny of the World Government, but there are still many who would see us undone! They must be rooted out, and cast upon the pure!"_

A highly disturbing sermon at that.

"Well, this explains the smell," he muttered quietly to Herman. "You hear it too, right?"

The immense dog, a black-furred, ludicrously shaggy animal that more closely resembled a particularly happy bear than anything else, flicked an ear and nodded. "Creepy," he said flatly.

Vinci pointed a finger at one of the crew- Rotes, that was his name- and tossed him the baby transponder snail. "Call up Jack, tell him to get ready to go _now._ "

"Not playing the hero?" Herman muttered.

"I don't want to be around when the World Government razes this island to the bedrock," he replied flatly. "They've already killed Marines, and that just means the actual hammer that hits this place is going to be horrifying. _Vice-Admiral_ horrifying."

Herman's ears laid back, and the rest of the men exchanged looks. Rotes looked like he was about to soil himself.

"I'll just, uh, call him then."

" _Good._ I'm getting a closer look at the place."

"Wait, what-"

Before anyone else could react, Vinci had begun to scale the nearest house, fingers finding minute cracks in the bricks and mortar. It only took moments to clamber up onto the roof. Another moment to orient himself, follow the echoes of the ongoing sermon, growing more unhinged by the second.

It made his blood simmer, but he held it down. Mastered it.

Part of him knew it was stupid to be getting closer. He knew it was dangerous, and pointless.

But he had to _see_. If only so someone would remember what was being done here.

It wasn't as though any records would be left after the Marines finished their work.

As he jumped across rooftops his mind flicked over what little he knew about Crucix. A decent trading spot, not large enough to need a Marine garrison, nothing really of note at all. Only real thing that made it stand out was its location close to both Walker Island and Hangman's Town, which made it a good stop for people heading for the Grand Line. Pirate crews or traders would load up on supplies here, make a run on Hangman's for what they couldn't get here- usually medicines, fresh fruits, and other inter-Blue goods- and then make for the Line. And that was it.

It didn't explain... _this._

" _We have burned away much of that which has weakened us, my brethren, but more still remains. Those few cowards lurking in the forests scheme and plot against us, and they will not rest. Their wicked master will drive them onward, but we are RESOLUTE! We WILL NOT falter to their corruption!"_

Just a little farther…

Two rooftops later, and he came upon a courtyard, one filled to the brim with people. Most of the town's population looked to be crammed into the square...but Vinci didn't even acknowledge them.

His eyes were for the stakes erected just in front of the rooftop he was perched on...and the mounds of burnt wood and bone around them.

Part of him started screaming quietly. He ignored it, locked it away, and turned his eyes to the man making the speech, screaming his devotion in front of the gothic structure of the church.

'Flat' was the first thing that came to mind. His eyes picked out features easily even at this distance, but for half a moment he doubted them. Surely nobody could look that strange? Hell, it seemed like he'd been smashed face-first into a wall as a baby. Beyond the face structure that could keep a plastic surgeon in the black for decades, he looked strong enough- hard to tell, most of him was hidden by a dark brown robe. Even his hands were covered by overlapping bandages, like boxer's tape. No jewelry, nothing ostentatious.

A fanatic, then.

What concerned him a bit more were the four men in armor flanking the priest. Knights of some sort? The one at the priest's right hand had to be ten feet tall at least, his armor more ornate than the other three- or the twenty more knights standing in ranks on the church steps. Probably their leader, and he looked like he knew how to use that bisento he was carrying. Second on the right was squat and portly-looking, no swords visible but a pair of outsized pistols on his hips. First on the left _did_ have a sword, a straight thing with a classical crossguard. Last of them was a knight only wearing the breastplate and helmet of his armor, carrying a massive double-headed axe.

Okay. Recon done. Time to get the hell out of-

Vinci threw himself to the right just as a pistol ball the size of his fist passed through where his torso had been tenths of a second earlier, and rolled down the side of the roof just in time to dodge a second shot that sent tile splinters raining down.

" _AN ASSASSIN? AFTER HIM!"_

Well, shit.

He ran, and hoped Herman had heard the shouting and had enough sense to do the same.

* * *

I reach over to touch the young woman's shoulder, trying to break her out of her staring-

Aaand she immediately shoves the barrel of her pistol right under my jaw, her other hand grabbing mine in a crushing grip. Well, probably crushing for normal people. On me, more like slightly firm. Seriously, Timmy the Asthmatic (and bar for Weakest Crew Member since Digby had bulked up) has a stronger grip.

I raise an eyebrow as she turns, keeping me between her and the ship.

"Really? You're glad we're here, and then you shove a gun in my face?" I say lightly. "Your planning leaves a lot to be desired."

"Shut up," she says shakily.

"No, but seriously, what _is_ your plan? Shoot me, and you'll just make me angry."

"Bullshit. You're human, just like everyone else. And I'm not taking any chances- I'm getting the hell out of here."

"Human? Kahahahaha…" I don't bother with the chant, and my tails burst free, the tips curling around to point centimeters from her eyes. "You have no idea what I am," I say with a smile. "Now, are you going to be polite?"

She doesn't move at all, just narrowing her eyes at me. Ballsy. I sigh, and shove the pistol aside with a finger, something she doesn't resist, before stepping back. Not out of reach of my tails, but out of hand range. "Fuck."

"Yeah, that's the usual reaction. So, posturing done...let's start over a bit more sanely, yes?" I ask lightly. "What's your name?"

She's shaking. Pretty sure that's not normal. Oh, right. I let the tails go, and back up a bit myself. "Your name," I prompt again. She shakes her head, and visibly straightens. "Bertram Lauren," she says. "Yours?"

"Yoshimura Kaneki. Now, miss Bertram, why exactly did you think it was necessary to pull a gun on me?"

"Hey, Yosh? She gonna be a problem?"

I wave Pravilno off without even glancing up the gangplank. "No. I'll handle her. Keep an ear out for Vinci and the others calling in."

"Ya, I hear you."

"Are you...the captain?" Lauren asks.

I laugh. "Nah, miss, my captain's looking for the rest of the people who're supposed to be here. Makes you part of the mystery too, ya know. You know what happened to them?"

Her eyes go blank for a moment, and she stares fixedly into empty space for a second, not even breathing, before shaking herself out of it. "Yes," she says, very quietly, "I do."

"Alright," I say, gently. "We'll leave that for later. Back to what I asked earlier. Why the gun?"

She stares at the pistol still in her hand for a second before holstering it. "You're still pirates," she says, in a slightly stronger voice. "Didn't think you'd be willing to do anything unless I threatened you into it."

"And if I'd just killed you for trying?"

She practically snarls, and I take another step back at the sheer _rage_ in her expression. "Better that than dying on a pyre like the rest," she growls.

"Kahahaha...so what's the thing you want so badly you'd wager death for it?" I ask, trying to sound laid-back. Pyres? That meant nothing good.

"Getting the hell out of here and onto the north side of the island. I...I don't know how to sail any of the fishing boats, and all the exits... _Machitus_ has men watching every other way out of town. I've been out here for weeks hoping someone would show up."

"Well, you got us." Okay, the situation is bad enough that she considers pirates an attractive option. Time to call Vinci and get the fuck out of here, ASAP. "Now get your ass on board. Why the north side, though?"

"Before it...started...some people were talking about hiding in the woods there," she says carefully. "I know the paths. If they're there...I need to get them out of here."

"Hmmph. You'll have to wait for our captain and navigator to get back, but it won't be much trouble. Like as not they'll help you out."

"But...you're pirates."

"Just means we'll ask for payment, or not. Our captain…" I shrug. I'm not sure myself what Vinci would do. Sure, common decency and all, but he's been uncommonly ruthless at times. A conundrum.

"KANEKI!" Oh, that's Jack. "GET UP HERE!"

That doesn't bode well at all. _Nothing_ about this has boded well, though, and so I yank Lauren up the gangplank after me, tossing her into Pravilno's hands (I hear the sound of a fist hitting a pompadoured skull almost instantly) and vanish into the ship, right into the transponder snail room where Jack is waiting. "What?" I say, as if I hadn't just sprinted all the way there.

" _Kaneki? Good,"_ Vinci's voice says, coming from the snail. " _Everyone ready to go? We're getting out as soon as we hit the docks."_ A gunshot carries over the connection, followed by the sound of a volley and cries of distant pain. Far-off, I barely make out the same sounds.

"Found the locals?"

" _Yeah, and they're nuts."_

"Not all of them. Got one on our ship. Haven't gotten anything out of her yet, but she says she knows how to meet up with some people who've fled the town. Captain...what happened here?"

Vinci's snail-mediated expression turns grim. " _Nothing good, Kaneki. Fine. This woman, we'll listen to her, but first we need to get out. Get the men ready to repel boarders."_

"Aye, captain."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It's easier to hear them before we see them. Gunshots, screams, and the roar of an angry mob. Shit, how many nutjobs were there?

"Kahahahaha...this is going to be interesting," I say, leaning on a rail as my tails wave slowly. Jack just grunts.

Everyone is at their places, guns and gatling manned, and the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. So I do what seems logical.

I throw back my head and laugh. Pravilno, Ostavila, and Lauren all look at me like I'm insane, and most of the crew joins them.

"Come on!" I shout. "You think whatever they have will stop us? Worst that'll happen is some of you die, and we all know the captain would like as not drag your sorry carcass out of hell just so he could yell at you for making him do so! So laugh, you sons of bitches! We're kicking the asses of people who deserve everything that's coming to them and more!"

And right on cue, Herman, Vinci, and a half-dozen of the crew round the corner.

They'd left with ten, where- no, four of them on Herman's back. Not moving.

And then the horde comes around the corner and I stop worrying about casualties. One of them, a giant of a knight, is closing the distance quickly. Too quickly.

I don't Shave. I'm not quick enough for that kind of technique, at least not enough to do it reliably, or in the right direction. But two of my tails launch me forward fast enough that it makes little difference.

"Scaled Guard!"

The knight's bisento _slams_ into my crossed tails, and for the briefest moment I'm stuck in midair, straining against the blade- and then the man finally overcomes my momentum and sends me flying back the way I came.

Luckily the railing, and my spine, break my fall a bit. Ow.

"I'm okay!" I announce from the slightly splintered deck.

"Stop doing stupid shit, Kaneki," Ostavila deadpans, helping me up- and _ow_ my spine just kicked back in, god _damn_ do my legs hurt.

"Yes ma'am no ma'am, three bags full ma'am," I mutter, flicking my tails- and shit, the fucker managed to put a notch into them. A notch that is pretty much gone now, but still...hrm. "Well, I pity the Marines who clean up this mess now," I say lightly, cracking my neck and returning to my spot on the rail. Well, next to my old spot, given the hole in the railing.

Huh. The big guy's fallen over, tangling up a good chunk of the mob as others try to help him up. Did I…

"WOO! Nice one, boss!"

Well. Guess the impact hit both ways.

"Eat Newton's Third Law, bitch!" I shout at the horde as Vinci and crew blaze up the gangplank, Herman shifting back into human form mid-stride and dumping four groaning and bleeding crewmen to the deck. The medics are on them in seconds.

 _BRRRRRRTT._

The Silins, three of them on this side, spin up and tear ragged holes in the mob, which recoils, men dropping like flies as the bullets do their bloody work. I make out, over the gunfire, someone exhorting them to keep going, and they start to rally as the men slack off their volley.

And then the cannons fire their loads of canister shot.

It's long range for them, long enough that the knights in their armor are probably fine. But most of the mob isn't so lucky.

Lauren vomits over the side of the ship at the same time as Jack starts shouting orders and our sails are unfurled to catch the wind, starting us out of harbor. The crack of rifle fire chases us, a couple shots putting holes in our sails and others forcing people to take cover, but we've been waiting and the wind is in our favor.

"That was too damn close," Vinci mutters as we pull out of rifle range at a decent clip. "They're fast little bastards."

"And now about fifty of them are dead little bastards," Jack says. "What're your orders, Captain?"

"You. Girl."

"My name is Lauren," she replies a little shakily, spitting over the side.

"It could be Poofy McPrincessy for all I care. Where the hell are we supposed to land on the north side, and where do we go from there?"

"You're the captain, then?"

"Of course I'm the-" Vinci stops, and takes a couple deep breaths. "My apologies. Being chased by a mob of screaming fanatics is not exactly entertaining."

"You really break out the long words when you get stressed, eh Captain?" Pravilno observes nonchalantly.

I sigh. "Pravilno?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up."

"Yessir."

"Okay," Lauren says, very carefully. "I know the landmarks, I can guide you to a good landing spot once you circle back around."

"Good. Talk to Herman, he's the one on the wheel. Beard, sword, hair as though he's been marooned with only a sharp rock to keep himself trimmed. Got that?"

"Yes, but... who are you?"

"I am Grigori Vinci, Captain and surgeon of the Nightmare Pirates, and I am currently out of fornications to give."

I think I'm going to treasure the expression she makes at that statement.

* * *

Running any sort of refugee camp was difficult.

Running a refugee camp without much in the way of supplies was even more difficult, but manageable.

Running a refugee camp without much in the way of supplies while keeping activity and foraging down because they had to hide everything from discovery by a bunch of outright nutjobs with horrifying power was asking the impossible. Marines did the impossible every day, though, so it could- barely- be done. Theoretically.

Doing the above with only six surviving men was literally undoable, but Seaman First Class Higgs was doing his best anyway. He'd be _damned_ if he failed these people again.

He couldn't take the fight to the crazy bastards in town-

- _the roar of flames, the screams of dying men-_

-but he could try to keep the non-crazy ones alive enough for the Marines to send backup. Branch 48 might've gone down, and Captain Mortvi with the ship to boot, but he was a Marine no matter what. Serve and protect.

"Sir? We've got a problem."

He sighed, not even able to work up the energy to remind Seaman Dimo that he shouldn't be calling him 'sir' when he wasn't even a Petty Officer. "Another one, you mean. What is it?"

"The northern cove, sir. There's a ship there. And…"

"Spit it out."

"I recognized the symbol, sir, from the bounties we got before...before-"

- _the ship dying to a storm from the heavens-_

"Before we got taken down, yes, but _which ship._ "

"The Nightmares, sir."

 _Shit._

* * *

It was a hidden irony that a large part of Impel Down's hidden Sixth Level was surprisingly comfortable.

Granted, the sections where important death row inmates were left to rot were as dank and grim as could be expected, but that was because they were going to _die_. There was no need to care much for them.

The ones who couldn't be killed- or, more often, couldn't be allowed into public light even for an execution, for fear of what they might say- had it better. Not _good_ , but tormenting them further was pointless and counterproductive. And so Level Six inmates kept decent clothing, were allowed mediocre food, and got some news of the outside world. Mediated by Warden Magellan, of course, and prone to being taken away over minor infractions...but they had them.

"Hey, Voorhees!"

The man being addressed looked up.

The first thing one thought of when looking at him was that he could pass for a fishman. It wasn't just the appearance, though his teeth were filed to points and he had a look that wasn't quite human. It was the eyes. Cold, dead, black pinpricks, like a great white's. The snow-white suit he wore and the pale blond of his hair reinforced the sharklike impression.

"What?"

"You said you wanted to know if...well, you know. Here. Take a look."

The man took the newspaper- a South Blue rag, and a week old, by the makeshift calendar the inmates had- and leafed through it, going straight to the bounty pages.

And he smiled.

"Hello, _brother_."

* * *

Vinci had not been having a good day.

Very few people who had been pursued by a band of fanatical religious nuts would call the day that happened on 'good' in any case, but it burned worse when he couldn't turn around and turn those same nutjobs to mincemeat. The mob and the knights would've been easy...but _something_ had one-shotted that Marine frigate, and if the brief clash between Kaneki and Bisento Knight was any indication, the ones in charge were tough bastards even without pulling out something on that scale.

And then there was the possibility of a Vice-Admiral dropping by for a friendly firestorm at any moment. And the fact that he was pretty sure his grandfather was dead, or at the very least had made a series of cunning plans to fake it.

Add it all up, and Vinci's usually easygoing mood was virtually nonexistent by the time a group of assholes in tattered Marine whites confronted them with rifles raised.

They wanted to fight? They _got one._

Gramps had tried to teach him as much as he could, before everything. Making him ready for a career in the Marines. His body wasn't strong enough to do half the things Gramps had told him about though. Hadn't been strong enough.

The King's Heart thundered in his chest, filling his veins with fire as he eyed the Marines and his crew- even Kaneki, who was bulletproof- panicked for tenths of a second.

The world went slow.

He hadn't been strong enough, outside Monster Mode, pushing his body to the very limits each and every time.

 _Hadn't_ been.

Ten steps in the blink of an eye. That was key.

It felt like moving through syrup, but he pushed on, and before the men in Marine whites could pull their triggers he was behind them, surgical thread wrapped around their necks and pulling tight.

Then the burning in his legs flared into positively obscene levels, and he fell to one knee, pulling the Marines down with him.

The world went back to normal, and Vinci heard Kaneki laugh even over the undignified choking noises the Marines were making.

"Didn't know you could do that, Captain," the ghoul commented as he walked up. As the man's tails hovered over the Marines Vinci loosened the threads, letting the poor bastards breathe a little.

"Wasn't sure I could," he muttered. "Hell on your legs though."

"Fucking...pirate…"

"That's _Mister_ fucking pirate to you, Marine," Vinci grumbled, getting back to his feet. "Now, going to explain why you were trying to conduct an ambuscade? We are returning one of your own." He let go of the threads, winding them back up around the tiny spools he'd sewn into his lab coat's sleeves. "In all seriousness, did you really think you could take on a whole pirate crew with...six people? Hell, half of you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."

"Returning on of our- you're _not_ here to go after the town?" one of the Marines asked faintly. He gave Kaneki a glance.

"Tried that, little too warm a welcome," the ghoul said with a smile.

"No, we don't give a damn about your town full of nutjobs," Vinci muttered. "Where is she...girl! Get your ass up here!"

"Dammit, I told you my name Scarface!"

Girl had fire to her. And had recovered from her brush with actual fighting pretty quick, more credit to her. If she could actually fight he might even consider poaching her for his crew. But that was for later.

The girl came up the beach where the rest of the crew was waiting, joining them at the entrance to the formidable forest that dominated this half of the island. _Ends Justified_ rode at anchor in the small cove she'd pointed out. She gave the captive Marines a glance. "Look, they agreed to drop me off here...wait, you guys...so some people survived from that Marine ship after all…"

Vinci stepped back, and gave Kaneki a nod. The man's tails dissolved away, letting the Marines scramble to their feet.

"I am growing far less interested in finding out what happened to this godforsaken rock by the second," Vinci mused, palming a scalpel and twirling it between his fingers. "And none of you gentlemen in white have answered my question. Why the ambush? We weren't threats."

"You're pirates, and we recognized your symbol."

Something of Vinci's surprise must've shown on his face, because the Marine chuckled. "Yeah, you're big shots now. All four of your officers. 'Berserker Hound' Bosque Herman, twelve million. 'Thundering Hammer' Rubeus Jack, eight million." The man's eyes flicked to Kaneki's masked face. "'Butcher Bird' Yoshimura Kaneki, nineteen million. And you. 'Alley Doc' Grigori Vinci, twenty-eight million."

Huh.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"So, we're wanted now. Doesn't really change much…" I muse.

"WOO-HOO! TWELVE MILLION!"

I sweatdrop. "Except the fact that Herman seems way happier about it than he's been about...anything, really."

"BREAK OUT THE SUPPLIES, BOYS, WE'RE GONNA PARTY!"

What? Vinci?

"Party? You're going to-"

Vinci grabs Lauren mid-sentence and whispers something in her ear, and she frowns, then nods.

What are you planning, captain…

"Kaneki, with me."

I don't question it, I just fall in step as everyone in the crew starts to grab stuff from the _Ends Justified_ and start a truly impressive party.

Where did Jack even _get_ a grill? Or that bright pink apron?

"You're planning something," I murmur.

"Dahahahaha...can't a man just enjoy a party?"

"Maybe...but you're you. You're crazy, and it's in-character...hmm. Still think you're planning something."

"And what makes you say that, 'Butcher Bird'? A better name than mine, heh."

"Yeah, 'Alley Doc' isn't exactly terrifying," I say. "And for what makes me say that...well, Lauren and all the Marines just ran into the forest, right after you whispered to her."

"Dahahaha...fair enough, fair enough. Simple. We've got plenty of supplies. And anyone who escaped that hell...they won't."

"You think people got out?"

"Not enough bodies on the pyres to match the population of that town, even adding the crazed nutjobs to the count. A lot got out." His eyes gleam gold. "And townspeople without access to farms and the fishing industry, no supplies except what they carried with them, and only hunting to get more since the town itself is filled with madmen? Don't know how long this's been going on, but they'll welcome a free meal."

I chuckle. "And it makes it easier to talk to everyone if their first impression is a party?"

"That too. Got a song in mind?"

"A few," I admit with a grin.

"Then go rally the band, best to put some music to it."

"Aye, captain. Bowes! Murdock! Alcorn! Vernon! Grab your shit, boys, we're gonna put on a show!"

The men in question, the ones with a touch of musical knowledge, scramble for their instruments as I jump up to the deck and head for my cabin and guitar.

"And a one, a two, a one-two-three-"

" _Oh whiskey is the life of man  
Always was since the world began  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below."_

I have no idea where half the shit we've pulled out was packed in our holds. Jack probably knew, and whoever he had pack it all up, but hey, it wasn't my job to know. But the beach looks like a giant picnic, folding tables and chairs scattered all over the place, the more perishable foods all over the place, the crew going through alcohol like a mower through grass…

" _Oh whiskey is the life of man  
Whiskey from an old tin can  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below."_

The chance of a Marine attack, or the nutjobs following us, or anything else...doesn't matter.

Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

" _Now whiskey made me pawn me clothes  
And whiskey gave me a broken nose  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below."_

I wish I could say I knew exactly when they started to trickle in, but I never really noticed. They just...arrived. People in battered and tattered clothes, worn down, many of them thin with hunger, children and adults and male and female. Most unwashed and unkempt, flinching at contact, on edge like rabbits.

They bleed in around the crew, and the crew takes them in without a reaction.

" _I thought I heard the old man say  
I treat me crew in a decent way  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below."_

I'm pretty sure I see some of them weeping, even as I catch the eye of the Marines, hanging at the edges of the ongoing party. Not happy, but letting it happen. Not like they could stop us, heh. I grin, and nod to them.

" _I treat me crew in a decent way  
Give them whiskey twice a day  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below."_

How many are there? A hundred, at least. Fewer than there should be. Vinci looks me in the eye, and jerks his head to the side before talking to an elderly man who had probably been stout at some point. I get it. Finish up. _  
_" _A glass of whiskey all around  
And a bottle full for the shanty man  
Whiskey-o, Johnny-o  
Rise her up from down below  
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o  
Up aloft this yard must go  
John rise her up from down below…"_

I set down my guitar, and nod to Bowes. "Keep it going, I've got to talk to the captain."

The man gives me a grin, and starts up the familiar tune of Bink's Brew on his violin.

Navigating the press of bodies is easier than I expected. The crew gives me space due to rank, and the survivors...well, someone topping six foot in a mask is intimidating enough, and the whispers following me indicate I've got a...reputation.

Heh, suppose it was inevitable.

Either way, I reach Vinci quick enough, to find that Jack- sans apron- and Herman have done so as well. Huh. Between the two of them and the bird's nest of bushy white on the old man, I'm getting beard envy.

Focus, Kaneki.

"What's the trouble, Captain?"

Vinci stares at the old man, ignoring my question. "All right, we're here. Now _start explaining._ "

* * *

The ship that was slowly coming into harbor looked like a wreck- no, it _was_ a wreck, barely floating, sails torn, and with gaping holes scattered like hungry, splinter-toothed maws all across the hull. As he watched, one of the mizzen masts cracked and began to slowly lean to the side drunkenly, pulling scaffolding and stays with it before finally falling back across the behemoth's deck with a exhausted thud.

Kirill Garcetti simply watched.

The ship seemed abandoned, but...no, it had made its way into harbor, and he knew the vessel even if the symbol of the cross was no longer present on its tattered sails.

Machitus.

The priest was a good man. Had been a good man, more like, it was doubtful he'd survived with his ship like that. A pity. Garcetti hadn't attended the man's sermons often, but a large portion of the town had loved the man. Wasn't hard to see why- a man of God who preached that everyone could secure a place in Heaven by the sweat of their brow was bound to be loved by a town that made most of its money off selling the results of said sweat.

Thundering footsteps behind him announced the arrival of Knight-Commander Reuel, the leader of the thirty or so knights who guarded the church and the town. The man was a powerful fighter, and for all the mayor's misgivings about the church having so much power, it paled in comparison to the thought of having to deal with the less scrupulous pirate crews _without_ their assistance. Most pirates didn't want to start trouble, but there were always a few who thought they could take the place over.

"Commander."

"Mayor."

"You are higher up than I am. Can you see anything?"

The knight shaded his eyes, squinting at the vessel. "I believe…"

 _SLAM!_ "MY CHILDREN! I I HAVE RETURNED!"

"...yes."

The Commander vanished down the docks, taking long strides, and Garcetti watched as the bulky figure of the priest- who looked far healthier than since he'd left on his voyage several months ago- met him on the gangplank that had been tossed down from the decrepit ship. The men clasped arms, and Machitus grinned.

Garcetti decided to leave the two to their reunion.

….

"What do you mean no entrance! He's back, we want to see him!"  
"No entrance means no entrance," the knight said flatly, ignoring the growing crowd. "The father has asked to not be disturbed."

"But why? Look, we just want to use the church. We've been doing it while he's been gone, and we just..."

"No visitors."

"Uh-huh. And what about when the mayor comes asking about the stuff you've moved off the ship?"

"No visi-"

"What 'stuff' would that be?" Garcetti inquired mildly, having been standing there for the past five minutes.

An old man had to have his hobbies, and one of his personal favorites was approaching someone silently, especially when it was some sort of commotion. The faces they made as they questioned just _how long_ he'd been standing there warmed his curmudgeony old heart.

"U-uh…"

"Well?"

"They...moved a bunch of crates and stuff off the ship. The night before we burned it."

"Hmmm? And nobody thought to tell me?" Garcetti asked genially. "Well, good sir, what was in those crates?"

The knight began to sweat, visible even with the face-concealing helm he wore. "I can't-"

The gates of the church creaked open, and all conversation stopped.

Machitus looked...battered. His nose had clearly been broken, flattened against his face, and a few faint bruises were still present on his features. But the priest still smiled. "My children, there is no need for this conflict."

"Father Machitus!"

"What happened? Your face-"

"Your ship-"

"Your men-"

Machitus raised his hands, and the crowd quieted.

"My children. My voyage- my pilgrimage- was a thing of wonder and terror. I left you, swearing to return when I found the truth of things...and though the travails and trials I encountered were terrible indeed, and claimed the lives of my faithful companions...I kept my faith. For that, I was rewarded with a revelation, with _truth._ "

"A revelation?"

"Tell us!"

Machitus shook his head slowly, frowning. "It is not ready, my children. The Lord gives us many miracles, and this...the mortal mind struggles to understand it. I am deciphering and contemplating it, but regrettably I must remain undisturbed." The priest's gaze was sorrowful. "I am sorry to delay our reunion so long, my children, but rest assured, when I fully understand the wisdom the Lord has imparted with me, I shall share it with all of you."

* * *

"And what did he share? Fire, and death, and miracles, aye, horrible things. Half the damn town crowded around for his 'revelation', whatever it was, and they went as crazy as him," Garcetti finished. "Tossing whoever they could catch onto the pyres, yelling like madmen. Those of us who made it out...well, it's been a long two weeks. So...thank you, for this."

Vinci nodded, taking in the information. "It isn't any trouble," he said with a shrug.

The mayor's story told him plenty. More than he'd wanted to know, maybe, but still…

Vinci caught the eye of one of the Marines, and gestured for the man to approach. The whitecoat was clearly reluctant, but he did it anyway.

"What the hell you want, pirate?"

"We saw your ship on the way in. Burned to the waterline. How'd that happen?"

* * *

The distress call his ship had picked up- barely, the signal so degraded no real detail could be made out- worried Higgs. Crucix may have done trade with pirates and rogues at times, but that was inevitable for every island that didn't have a Marine garrison or a dedicated army. It wasn't likely that it was pirates, then. But what? Plague? A famine?

A famine would explain why the docks were so empty…

It was problematic. They had minimal supplies and the cold in this region, while not enough to actually prevent snail calls, kept them from transmitting the massive distances they normally could. Branch HQ had no idea they were here for the moment, and if it _was_ a famine they wouldn't be able to help much or request further assistance.

He could see the Captain worried just as much, the man pacing on the foredeck as Higgs coiled some line that some laggard had left lying about.

"Ahoy the ship!"

Well, someone was alive after all. Higgs- and a good chunk of Branch 48's crew to boot- made their way to the rail.

Jeez. Higgs wasn't exactly a looker himself, but the poor bastard standing at the end of the dock hailing them looked like someone had chopped him out of stone.

"What happened here?" Captain Mortvi called down.

The ugly bastard smiled. "Revelation. You have no business here, Marines. Go now."

"We received a distress call. What 'revelation' do you mean?"

"The truth of the very world. I will not ask again. Leave this place."

"This island is part of the World Government, and we are obligated to assist it," Mortvi replied frostily. "We will not leave until-"

" _Genesis Wrath."_

Incongruously, _impossibly_ , a scythe of flame lanced out from where the ugly man stood, cutting up through the deck of Branch 48's ship, the heat making Higgs's eyebrows crisp even at a distance.

And then the world dissolved into a roar and white light…

* * *

"He must've hit the powder magazine or something, tore the ship to shreds," Higgs says quietly. "I remember waking up, briefly, and...I know it sounds insane but I saw him throwing lightning at the survivors. Me and a few others managed to swim away...we met up with the others, and that was that."

"So nobody knows what happened here?" Vinci asks, equally quietly.

Higgs shrugs. "Might be a merchant vessel or something picked up the original call, but if they did it's not too likely that there'll be any help from the Marines for a while. 'S been nearly a week since we lost our ship. They would've arrived by now."

Vinci takes in a breath, lets it out. "Alright." He looks at the people still milling around the party. "Alright."

His face goes still for a moment, before his grin returns, wider than ever. "Well then. Jack, Herman, Kaneki...get the boys ready to roll in the morning."

"What're we going to do?" I ask, more for the benefit of the non-crew in the conversation.

"Do?" Vinci's grin widens still further as his irises burn gold. "We're going to go practice _medicine._ "

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 _Ends Justified_ swarmed with activity, the armory the center of the chaos as men carried crates of ammunition, sharpened swords, and generally made themselves ready for the fight that would start in the morning. Weapons were being loaded, belts tightened, knives and axes given one last check.

Vinci, for his part, was examining a rather strange weapon.

It didn't have a place, really. Not in the remnants of personal kit that tended to accumulate on a warship, because the pirates had started with nothing save Marine-issue weaponry, stolen from their captors. And they hadn't purchased anything on Murky or Walker that matched it. It was a scythe, the blade turned upwards so it was parallel to the haft, a crosspiece welded in place perpendicular to the cutting edge, the whole thing fitting smoothly together into a seamless whole. The cutting edge, along the inner surface to the blade, was razor-sharp.

Vinci hefted it in his hands. Good balance despite how crude it looked. Hmm.

Yes, this would do nicely.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Pravilno's voice drew his attention, and he watched as the pompadoured man confronted Bertram Lauren, who was loading rounds into a lever-action rifle with cold efficiency. "I'm going to fight," she said flatly, their words easy to pick out as those around them started watching the argument instead of moving or talking.

"Do you even know how to-"

"Yes. My mum and dad ran one of the local shops. Sold weapons to all comers." Even halfway across the armory Vinci could see her eyes go hard. "They weren't lucky and they weren't faithful. So I'm gonna fight."

Pravilno snorted, folding his arms. "You ever been in a fight?"

"Seen worse than anything my bullets will do to them," the young woman said monotonously.

Vinci thumped the butt of his newly acquired scythe against the deck, and both of them flinched. Utter silence descended as Vinci watched them both.

"Welcome to the crew," he said flatly. "Try not to die."

Lauren snorted, cockiness back as if it had never left, and worked the action of her gun. "I won't."

Vinci left them behind and headed for his lab, balancing his scythe on his shoulder.

Kaneki was already there when he entered, jacket and shirt off. "What exactly is it you need my blood for?" he asked flatly.

Vinci shrugged as he set his bag on a counter and leaned his scythe next to it. "There's something I'm going to try with the crew. I've tested your blood on cell cultures."

Kaneki went still as Vinci pulled a large needle- one made of a tungsten-steel alloy and one that was more typically used on the most heavily armored South Blue wildlife, since even ordinary steel near a joint or vein couldn't break the skin.

"What...exactly happened?" Kaneki asked cautiously.

"Damnedest thing. It bonded with the normal cells, then started trying to regenerate them all. Had to incinerate the lot, but before I did...well, it was making more of _their_ cells. Not yours, and not ghoul ones."

"So…"

"So I'm going to see who wants some temporary- or maybe permanent- augmentation. We're outnumbered at least three or four to one. And we've got some tough bastards to handle ourselves, which means we can't handle the crowd for the crew."

"So you're going to inject them with my blood and hope it makes them tough enough to even the odds. Without having tested it."

"Only half a dozen, it's not only your blood in the serum, and unfortunately yes, but they'll all be volunteers."

Kaneki ground his teeth. "Fine. It fucks them up permanently though, I'm putting them down. We don't need more of me."

"If that happens, I'll swing the blade myself," Vinci said. "That's the captain's burden. Now hold still. If you're tense it'll just hurt more."

It was the work of moments to draw enough blood from the ghoul, the liquid a far brighter red than normal vitae and slightly more dense as well. He nodded to Kaneki. "You've eaten?"

The ghoul shrugged. "Long salt pork. Not exactly tasty but it's not as though I have options."

"Indeed you don't."

"So why half a dozen?"

Vinci grinned. "It's how many gas masks I have to modify into aerosol dispersal masks right now. Tell me- how do you feel about your own oni hit squad?"

* * *

The sun's fallen, but we're still planning, the crew's officers, the leader of the Marines, and Lauren gathered under a tent.

"I didn't get too close to them, but they're mostly staying in their homes except when Machitus calls them together," Lauren reports, looking over a crude map of the town. "I think they assemble at dawn to pray or whatever he wants them doing, they all go to the square and the church and stay there for a while. Easy to steal food from them then, there's nobody to pay attention."

"So if we hit them in the morning they're all in one spot, too crowded to maneuver...good sight lines, too," Jack notes.

"One of their knights is a damn good shot. Nearly took off my head with his pistols when I climbed the rooftops," Vinci adds. "We won't be able to do it quietly...but there's entrances here, here, and here."

"Split up, ten or so to a group...block the way from there and cut them down?" I muse.

Vinci shrugs. "Could work. Marines, you decent shots?"

Higgs frowns. "Decent enough, pirate. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we can get you up on the roofs and you can fire from there while we do our work on the ground. No offense, but you lot are half-starved and I don't think you're up for a melee."

The Marine deflates slightly. "Fine."

"Kaneki, you and the oni are with me. We'll be going for Machitus himself. If the knights get in the way, well…"

"Rip and tear?" I ask flatly.

"Smart man."

"Hrrm." I tap the map. "You sure we can't bring some of the Sirins along?"

"Moving artillery through the woods isn't a good idea," Vinci says.

"There's a cove closer to town, past the forest," Lauren says. "If we can land there…"

Vinci nods. "Should even the odds. Can't spare the men to take all six...takes three to carry and they're lacking carriages...but place them with the groups on the ground, they'll hold them off, turn the place into a killing ground."

"You think talking about the plan in such detail means it's doomed to go wrong?" I muse idly.

"Shut up, Kaneki."

"Yessir."

Someone whistles outside the tent, and Vinci's head snaps up. "Come in!"

Pravilno enters quickly. "Got the six you asked for," he says briefly. The volunteers for Vinci's...experiment.

Vinci nods. "Alright. Excuse me for a moment? Kaneki, with me."

I follow him out of the tent, taking up a position behind him as he looks over the six volunteers. Good men, all of them.

I wish I could remember their names.

"You know the risks?" Vinci asks quietly. All six of them nod. "Alright, then." He pulls a stack of dark red masks from his bag, and starts handing them out. "They're preloaded with the dosage, the toggle switch is by the jaw. There's enough in there to last you for maybe half an hour."

The men exchange glances, then nod, and don the masks easily.

Six oni glare at me in the dark, and despite my trepidation I smile.

 _Ends Justified_ slid into the cove- a smaller one than the one on the island's north side, but as close to town as promised- with nary a splash, even the anchor chain lowered with care and as much silence as possible. Herman smiled thinly as he locked the wheel in place and hurried to join the men crowding down the gangplank. Three of the Sirins were coming with them, too, though they'd be short of ammunition compared to shipboard- one could only fit so much on their carriages.

Herman stalked over to one of the twelve-man groups, looking around at the others.

Kaneki and a six-man group in dark red oni masks were speaking quietly as they and the captain joined up with another six. Jack was heading one of the dozens, and the Lauren girl and Kaneki's usual shadows were among their members. That left his own men. He looked them over with a critical eye, and sniffed the air. No fear- just anticipation, and the smell of well-cared-for weaponry. He grinned, and nodded. "Let's go."

As one, the Nightmares moved out.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The first man dies just as dawn is breaking. He steps outside of his house, catches sight of us, and opens his mouth.

Ostavila puts a knife in his throat before he can make a sound. Darting forwards, she grabs the hilt of the blade and cuts the man's throat, dropping the body to the ground with a thump. The leathery-skinned woman catches my eye, and I nod slightly. She fades back into Jack's group silently.

Vinci looks forwards, ignoring the body. "Must've been a straggler," he mutters. "I can hear most of them up in the square. Ready?"

"Always," I answer.

The crew breaks out into a trot, Jack's group splitting off to loop around and cover the farthest entrance to the square while Herman's stays with us. The other two entrances to the courtyard are fairly close, ad the crew should be able to back each other up.

As we draw closer, I can hear more of Machitus's preaching. It's...creepy. _Very_ creepy.

" _Strength, my children, is what matters! Our Lord gives us gifts, yes, but we must be strong enough to wield them. Strong enough to break our enemies and drive them before us, for in that way we earn the Lord's favor! And we are strong...we will be the strongest! The strongest of all, and that makes our cause the most righteous in the Lord's eyes! We are an army of those who understand the true word!"_

Herman's group splits off, leaving just ours.

The crowd doesn't notice us at first as we enter the square, all of them enraptured by the crazy bastard speaking on the church steps. All of them...they look normal, a bit ragged and disreputable...but then I get a good look at their eyes. Blank, staring eyes. The crewmen murmur slightly at the complete lack of reaction, the sheer alienness of it, and despite myself I'm more than a little unnerved.

Vinci, though...Vinci just laughs, the sound cutting through the preaching with ease and causing the flat-faced man to glare. "You dare…"

"Oh, I dare," Vinci calls with a grin.

"You and your pack of demons and monsters have no place on holy ground," Machitus pronounces, and I see weapons- crude, makeshift weapons, but weapons nonetheless- begin to be lifted by the populace.

"Demons? Monsters?" Vinci says, lighting a cigarette. "Heh. We're nothing so small. _Fire at will!_ "

The Sirins roar, and at this close range there's no escape for the crowd. Against my will, my mouth waters at the scent of spilled blood as bullets rip through their packed ranks, tearing them down- only for the knights to rush into a shield wall, one that holds firm against the hail of ammunition, _somehow._

 _-RRTTTTTTTTT-click-click-click-click…_

"Shit, out of ammo already?" I grumble, crouching slightly as the dozens of surviving fighters recover their nerve and the knights unfold from their shield wall, drawing swords. "And here I thought this was gonna be easy…"

"Dahahaha...never is, Kaneki," Vinci says with a laugh. "Let's finish this. _Charge!"_

* * *

It fought.

It was a roaring engine of destruction, a jittering beast barely kept going on dregs of regeneration as the most potent combat cocktail in existence thrummed in its bloodstream and lungs. Its sword was long gone, lost in a shattered collection of bone and blood and flesh, and it fought with bare hands.

Name forgotten, soul forgotten, injuries and tiredness and mortality _forgotten._ Only orders in its skull, golden-eyed words from golden-eyed man.

Hunt! Kill! Maim!

Five more around it, spilling their own blood and others, scent right while all others were wrong-wrong- _wrong_ , a sixth even stronger behind and the rest all traces and symbols and shouting.

It flipped over a spear-thrust, and its backhand tore the jaw from an opponent as it grabbed another man's neck and _squeezed._

Hunt! Kill! Hate!

A kick shattered another man's sternum as it dropped the twitching body and dove forwards, shaking fingers taking up a wood-axe and tearing into bone and brain.

And then it and its brothers were through the crowd, facing armored heroes in tin and steel, all glints in dull sunlight. It snarled in hate and its brothers howled with it as they ran, crashing into the line of shields.

" _Judgement."_

It flew back, trailing blood and bone, breath rasping through fractured bone and cracked mask, and it landed on its feet with a snarl. Arm broken, fingers missing, ignored.

It launched forwards again, under the shields, quick as thought, and buried its hands in soft-crumpling steel and crushed the life from their throats. They dropped, and its brothers rushed into the gap, wary of the crushing shields, quick as vipers as they turned the formation into a slaughterhouse.

Hunt! Kill!

" _Burn."_

* * *

Vinci leaned to the side calmly as a pillar of flame rippled past him, letting the heat roil over him and ignoring it. He kept walking, his eyes focused on his target.

Machitus.

Vinci didn't care what faith he followed, what gifts he had from heaven. Whatever had happened to him was something more than that. The man was a tumor, and he'd be excised.

The fat knight ran past, clutching a bazooka in one hand and a shotgun in the other, and Vinci ignored him. The axe-wielding knight followed him, and Vinci ignored him too. His crew and the cult battled around him, and Vinci ignored that as well.

He even ignored the clash of metal against metal- and C-cells- to his left and right as Bisento Knight and the dandy with a sword tried to strike at him and were blocked by Kaneki and Herman.

Machitus smiled, and stepped forward, ignoring the slaughter occurring on both sides of him as the remaining oni clashed with the knights. "Have you come to kill me, then?" he asked. "You will find it a difficult undertaking."

One of the oni leapt at the priest. Without looking, his hand shot out and grabbed the man by the head, halting his charge. " _Judgement."_

The oni's mask shattered as the man went flying back, neck clearly broken. Machitus smiled. "No matter your artifice, it cannot compare to the power of the heavens," he pronounced. "Bow, as all must."

Vinci grinned, but there was no humor in it. "The heavens?" he said, hefting his staff. "No matter the power of your gifts...there is nothing faith can give you that I cannot discern and turn against you." The King's Heart pounded in his chest as his grin widened. "That is the nature of man, to investigate and tinker- and you've given that up, turned from thought to blind obedience to the voices in your head." His smile vanished. "And for that, I'll kill you. With my weak, mundane, _mortal_ tools, you mad fool." He leveled his scythe as Machitus's smile vanished, and launched himself forward, Shaving mid-step. " _Greater Amputation!"_

Blood flew.

* * *

" _Falcon Stoop!_ "

Herman grunted slightly as he blocked the blond-haired swordsman's overhand blow with Amakatta, taking a step back. Not because the bastard was strong, but because he kept-

-he dodged to the side, deflecting a thrust as the blond shouted another fucking pretentious phrase-

Kept trying to spit him like a pig. And every damn counter got absorbed by that _fucking_ buckler in the man's off-hand, as though his strikes weren't even hitting it!

Steel shrieked against steel as he swung Amakatta in a short, harsh arc, forcing the swordsman back as the power of the blow cracked against his guard, too quickly for him to put the shield in the way. The man backed away, before pausing. "What is your name, pirate?" he asked, smiling.

"Bosque Herman," he grunted, lowering Amakatta slightly. "What's it to you?"

"I like to know the name of those who I honor with combat," the dandy said. "I am Knight-Sergeant Jordan...and you will die on my blade."

"Confident little pup, aren't you?" Herman growled. "Fine then. Take your best shot!" he called, lowering Amakatta.

Just as expected, Jordan darted forwards, aiming to spit him again as he shouted something about courts and fans.

Right before the bastard could touch him, Herman shifted form, gaining two feet in height and a couple hundred pounds of fur-covered muscle in an instant, and grabbed the man's shield by the rim, yanking it away and ignoring the pain of the man's steel toothpick opening a gash along his ribs. Amakatta swung, and faced with losing his arm or dropping his shield, the dandy chose the former, dashing back out of reach again.

"So you have the form of a dog as well as its lack of honor," the dandy commented as Herman hurled the shield aside. "How appropriate."

Herman snarled. "Honor means nothing, you little shit. I am a swordsman- I cut down the enemy, nothing less! Now, let's end this, blade to blade!"

"Fine, then," the dandy replied, taking up a two-handed grip on his sword. " _Silk Whirlwind!"_

" _Last Laska!"_

* * *

"It's no use," the knight taunted as bullets spalled off his armor. "Everything you fire merely increases the potency of my weapons. For instance…"

Lauren cursed, and ducked behind the dubious cover of an abandoned cart as the enormously fat bastard pointed his bazooka at the closest pirates, men who were charging him with swords and axes. " _Pharisee's Wind."_

The blast of- she had no idea, honestly, air, energy?- sent them hurtling back with bone-breaking force.

"Gagagahahaha! You can't break me! I, Knight-Sergeant Martin, am stronger than any of you!"

Well this fucker certainly liked to hear himself talk…

Fuck! Even armor good enough to turn bullets should've been shaking him like a pea in a can with the number of hits he'd taken. Internal bleeding, bruised organs, fractured ribs...and he fucking walked it off! Maybe if she could get a bullet into his visor...but he'd shoot back before she could line it up right, the second she popped out of cover.

She couldn't do it. She was going to-

"Hey."

The acrid smell of cigarette smoke cut through the haze of gunpowder and fear. She opened her eyes- when had she closed them?- as Pravilno put a hand on her shoulder. What the hell was he doing? Why wasn't he fighting?

The man grinned. "Got a plan? He's a tough bastard, and Jack's too busy fighting that other guy to handle him."

" _Come out and die you little insects!"_

"Aaand he might be working himself into a rage since everyone else is finding cover," Pravilno noted.

"Why the hell do you expect me to have a plan?" Lauren hissed. "You damn well know I've never been in a battle before- you're the pirate! Hell, you didn't want me fighting in the first place!"

Pravilno frowned. "I...don't like to see young women in danger. I had a sister, and one day-"

 _BOOM!_

The half of the cart Pravilno was hiding behind burst into a rain of splinters, the explosion hurtling Pravilno away from her as she was knocked back. She felt wood slice into her skin, some far too close to her eyes for comfort.

Ow….

* * *

Axe and hammer rang together as they clashed again, and Jack snarled. His people were getting hurt, or worse, because he couldn't _put down this bastard fast enough._

"What is the matter, pirate? Unhappy because you cannot aid your comrades?" the axe-wielding nut said with a far-too-pleased grin. "Come, now. Let me break you, so that I may prove my strength in the eyes of the Lord."

"You keep yammering on about that," Jack said flatly. "Pretty sure the good book doesn't have anything about pyres and murdering in it."

"The old faith? Oh, no. That is long dead. This is a new faith, of strength and blood and iron. And you have your place in it, as everyone else does."

"You're near as mouthy as that priest of yours," Jack muttered. "Fine, you want strength? _Ukko!"_

* * *

The battle is clear around the two of us, people giving us space. Not out of respect, but because the knight is waving his bisento around like mad and any cult member who intrudes in my space ends up impaled by my tails.

" _Scale Cut!"_

" _Lion's Pride!"_

The force of his strike nearly sends me reeling, but the rest of my tails rush in, forcing him back for a moment. I drop into a crouch, heaving for breath, and he leans heavily on his bisento to do the same.

"You are strong, demon," he says. "But I have the will of the Lord behind me. Evil cannot defeat good."

"You call this good?" I snarl. "Pyres of the dead, driving others out into the woods to die?"

"The Father opened my eyes to the Lord's will. What he desires is good, and to oppose it is evil. That is the simple fact of the world."

I can't help it. I laugh. "So that's what you really think?" I mutter, straightening. "Well, then. I suppose it's a good thing."

"That you die here?"

"No. That when I tear you open and feast on your heart, I'll know I'm doing the world a service. Now come on, Commander Reuel. Come and kill me, if you can."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Vinci dodged Machitus's palm strike by inches, and slammed one of his own into the man's chest. " _Fracture Trauma!"_

The flat-faced priest went flying, crashing through the doors of his church and reducing them to splinters in the process. Vinci leaned on his staff, panting, and probed at the crisscrossed gashes one of the priest's blows had left in his left arm.

Hmmph. Shallow.

He considered. Blows from the right hand produced massive kinetic force. Blows from the left, cutting force, x-shaped. The former he hadn't let impact him, but he hadn't had a choice with the latter...and he'd felt something in the priest's hands, obscured by the bandages but there nonetheless. Round and hard and definitely not an actual palm.

He grinned. _Interesting._

"Get him!"

Three knights charged at him, swords drawn. One dropped mid-step as a bullet punched a hole through his helmet. That left one on each side.

" _Tracheal Trauma,"_ Vinci said flatly, spinning his scythe and slamming the butt of it into the throat of the knight charging from the left. Knight on the right got two steps further before Vinci's scythe spun back around and parted his head from his shoulders.

There was a dull _whump_ as the knight collapsed onto the cobblestones, and the man's body jumped back into the air before falling again. Vinci knelt down and flipped the body over, noting absently that cracks had spread from the impact point.

Hmm. Even more interesting. Now let's see...he'd fallen shield-first…

The man's shield, like all the others, was an antiquated kite-style thing with a prominent boss higher up- and said boss was cracked just as badly as the cobblestones. A bit of quick work with a scalpel pulled it off entirely, revealing an odd-looking...shell, he supposed. Spiral-shaped and lined with holes. He pried it free easily, bouncing it in his palm.

"Gifts from the Lord, heh," he muttered. "What are you, little shell…."

His eye caught the gathering light seconds before a lance of flame burst from the ruins of the church, just enough to let him dodge to the side.

Machitus did _not_ look happy. Then again, it wasn't as though being thrown into your own church was a cause for joy, Vinci hypothesized. The priest's right hand smoked gently- probably the source of the flame- while his left carried a large tome. "You are rapidly becoming an annoyance," the priest snarled.

Vinci laughed. "Oh, is that all? I'd think that killing off your army of cultists would make me more than that."

Machitus glared. "My losses can be replaced. Why don't I show you how?" He raised the tome in one hand, and Vinci caught a glimpse of embossed silver letters- before gunshots sounded and the upper two-thirds of the book turned into confetti.

Machitus's expression was something he would treasure.

"You...you…"

"Why, Father, I'm amazed. Is this little thing what finally makes you lose your compos-"

Something- a shift in his stance, or maybe just a current of air- warned Vinci to step back. It saved his life as a boot-clad foot passed right through where his head had been, cratering the ground as it impacted. Vinci barely managed to block with the shaft of his scythe as Machitus spun in place, slamming a textbook-perfect kick that sent him skidding back across the cobblestones.

"You little _bastard,_ " Machitus hissed. " _HEAVENLY WRATH!"_

Vinci's world turned into _pain._

* * *

Herman snarled as the little bastard's blade nearly took a chunk out of his arm. The nimble sabre cut a long gash, nearly cutting tendons, before he slammed his own blade into the man's guard and forced him back again.

"What's the matter, dog? I thought you wanted a match, blade against blade?" the dandy taunted. "Tell me: is this the first time your fury has failed you? The first time you've faced someone with skill? You aren't worthy to carry that blade."

Herman saw _red_ , and Amakatta _howled._ He swung, only for the dandy to slip to the side, laughing.

"Clumsy, a fool brandishing a hunk of raw iron! And now…" The dandy kicked up a familiar shield, snatching it out of the air. "How can you beat my defense, dog?"

Amakatta shrieked through the air as Herman tried to part Jordan's head from his shoulders.

The boss of the buckler slammed into his chest as the blond knight ducked, and the bastard grinned. " _Deliverance."_

Pain ripped through him, dozens of crisscrossing gashes opening up on his torso as he staggered back. He spat blood, joining the growing puddle on the cobblestones as he slowly fell to one knee, leaning on his sword.

No. Not like this.

"Is that all, dog? I suppose I've bled you enough."

"No," he managed to growl, staring at the man through blood-clouded eyes. He stood.

" _Let me tell you a story," Kaneki said quietly as Herman panted on the deck, flat on his back. Why? Why couldn't he cut the bastard? Even with Amakatta…_

" _Let me tell it to you as my master once told me," the ghoul said, not even winded. "There once was a man, a swordsman of great renown. His name and title was Abaddon Wagner, Lord of the Edge of Heaven, Bearer of the Executioner's Blade, and Councillor of the Sevenfold Kingdom, and his powers were mighty enough to earn him status and acclaim._

 _One day, Wagner gathered his retainers, who were hungry for tutelage. "Lord Wagner!" said his sandal bearer, who bore the name Navier, and was a doctor of high learning, "What is the first step on the path to Mastery?"  
_ " _There are no steps," replied Wagner, "It is zero-sum with your reality. It is not measured in finger-lengths."  
_ " _Lord Wagner," said his bodyguard, who was named Mendel, and who had broken armies with the strength of his limbs. "Is the path to Mastery the path of struggle, then?"  
_ " _No," said Wagner, "One may attain it without any effort at all. It is, in fact, the antithesis of struggle."  
Wagner's steward, who was burdened with the name Mahbub and knew much of war, was very discontent with his master's evasiveness. "Lord," he said, "Allow us lowly men some small measure of understanding. For sympathy's sake, and the sake of we good and loyal servants, please tell us in plain language the nature of Mastery."  
_" _I will tell you precisely what Mastery is," said Wagner, "It is a continuous cutting motion."_

" _I...don't understand," Herman managed to wheeze._

 _Kaneki smiled. "Neither did I. But one day you will."_

" _Cujo...Howl,"_ he growled, before his vision turned to blood and thunder.

* * *

"Do you know what is best in life?" his opponent asked casually as he backed out of the range of Jack's hammer.

"What?" Jack spat.

"To break your enemies, drive them before you, and hear the lamentations of their wo-"

A blur of blood and broken metal smashed the axe-wielding knight aside, followed closely by the black-furred hulk of Herman, in full dog form.

Jack blinked for a moment as the dog-man pounced on the faintly groaning shape of the axeman. Massive jaws closed around the man's neck, and jerked sharply.

There was a small snapping sound, and the man went limp.

Okay. That happened. Right.

"Bosque?" he called out, getting a rumbling growl in response. Jack looked the dog-man in the eyes. The blank, bloodshot eyes.

Great. _Another_ berserker. Jack frowned, and tapped his hammer in one hand. "Oi, navigator!" he shouted. "Snap out of it!"

The gigantic dog's growl deepened, then cut off as Jack pointed his hammer at it. "Bad dog. Go back to being human."

The animal huffed. And then its eyes rolled back in its head and it faceplanted into the cobblestones, turning back into Herman mid-fall.

Judging from the sound, the dog-man had broken his nose in the process. Oh, well, it wasn't as though he could look any worse.

"Help…"

Jack glanced at the form of the axeman, who was pinned under Herman and something that had probably been a person before Herman's dog form had gotten to it. "And why?"

"Can't...feel anything. Cold…" the man whispered.

Shit. Alright, then. "What's your name, then?"

"Howard…"

"Then rest, Howard." There was only one kind of help he could give at this point.

His hammer came down.

* * *

I'm starting to regret my choice of opponent.

If I could just _reach_ the overly tall bastard this fight would be over in seconds. But no, I had to pick the one incredibly strong guy with the sense to use his height and reach and make it even worse by waving around a polearm.

I dodge another strike, and grit my teeth as Reuel's bisento cuts into my upper-left tail. How the _hell_ is he pulling it off? These things are able to cut steel! My other three tails dart forwards, forcing him back and cutting a shallow groove into his gauntlet.

"Hmmph. I know your tricks, demon. Those tails are your weapons, no? I wonder...is the rest of you so strong?"

I grin. "You're welcome to try, knight."

He hasn't hit me hard enough or gotten past my tails. He doesn't know about my regeneration, probably thinks only the tails can do it.

This will be _interesting._

"Very well. _Black Fury!"_

" _Scaled Guard!"_

Blows rain down on my crisscrossed tails, cutting away at them bit by bit. I go to one knee- and hide my grin even as a pair of immensely strong slashes sever each pair, leaving me defenseless.

" _Blade of Shadow and Flame!"_

His next strike hits me in the collarbone, and keeps going, cutting into ribs and one of my lungs, barely avoiding the heart. I stagger, grabbing on to the haft of the weapon to stay standing. "Con- congratulations," I cough, bringing up blood with my words. "You cut...four of my tails."

I grin up at him.

"Too bad...I have six. _Scale Lance."_

He could let go of his weapon, but he hesitates, trying to pull it free against the grip I have on it. That fraction of a second is all I need to push free a third pair of tails from my back and send them punching through his breastplate and into his chest.

He falls to his knees as I push his weapon out of my body, torn muscle and bone knitting closed behind it.

"Now...I think I made a promise about your heart," I say with a smile.

* * *

Pravilno wasn't moving. The amount of blood on the cobblestones told Lauren all she need to know. If he wasn't dead, he'd be finished soon enough. But she kept crawling towards him anyway, even though every movement sent shivers of pain through her entire body, especially where she could feel a row of splinters in her leg.

"What are you trying, girl?" the fat knight inquired.

She ignored him as she grabbed at Pravilno's pistol, dropped on the ground. Her fingers closed around the smooth, blood-soaked wood, and she drew strength from it.

"Oh? A weapon? Is that little thing your final attempt?"

"Shut. Up," she managed to growl as, shakily, she stood.

The knight laughed, looming over her, pointing his weapon at her. She didn't shiver, or falter. "What do you intend to do, little girl? You cannot pierce my defenses."

She smiled. "I know," she said, making her voice as mocking as she could manage. "I was just waiting for him to get behind you."

The knight whirled, only to find nobody there.

She gathered her strength, and jumped, an arm scrabbling for the fat man's neck and finding purchase even as a metal-clad arm tried to reach back and tear her off his back.

" _Gunnery Special: Point Blank,_ " she snarled as she shoved the weapon into the slit of the man's visor and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Vinci was vaguely certain he shouldn't be tasting ozone.

Or blood.

But he was anyway. Why…?

"Do you have any idea the cost I paid for that knowledge, to be deserving of the Lord's attention?!" Ah. That was why. _"Heavenly Wrath!"_

Another bolt of electricity, another surge of pain as muscles locked up and nerves screamed...but this one was less than the ones before it.

 _Ba-bum._

He chuckled, even though it felt like swallowing glass. "So simple…"

"Do you know what that book taught me? Taught us all? You foolish little Philistine…" Machitus's voice seemed distant, and at the same time far, far too close. "Let me _educate_ you. I sailed for months, searching, searching for something that would let the world make sense again. My crew of faithful died around me, from plague or storm or pirate, and all seemed lost as my ship was becalmed, empty of supplies and unable to sail…" The man's voice choked off for a moment, before resuming, even louder. "And then the Lord saw me! A ship fell from the skies, laden with supplies, with weapons and goods...and with His Word. I took it, I read it, and I _understood_ , for the first time, what the world was like."  
 _Ba-bum._ Veins shifted under Vinci's skin, a network obeying no rhyme or reason...except his own. Strength surged into his body, and he found it in him to stand, facing the preacher as he ranted.

"This world...this cruel, blood-soaked world...those who the Lord loves are the _mighty!_ Those who take what they want from this world, those who have the strength to defend all from every enemy! You know this is true- the Marines, the pirates, the Emperors and the Warlords, they rule not through the right or the will of the masses, but because they are _strong!_ They are _holy!_ They are _right!_ As I am right, _boy_ , because you are not strong enough to stand against me. You never will be, for the Lord has decreed for me to spread this message, to all the Blue Seas and across the Grand Line! I will kill you. I will kill your crew. I will take your vessel, and I. WILL. RULE!"

Vinci smiled.

 _Babum-babum._

"Rule…" he whispered, before he raised his eyes to Machitus's. "Rule? As a barbarian, through the strength of your arm? You….dahahahaha! You are no ruler! You call your tools and your creed heaven-sent?"

 _Babum-babumbabumbabum…._

Something in him surged, and lightning crackled over his arm, dancing over clothes and skin as both his hearts, mortal and Royal, beat even faster. "What your god grants you, my knowledge can equal…" he snarled, taking a step forward. "And surpass, a thousand times." Another step, and Machitus's shock faded as he lifted his own hand, blue lightning to mirror Vinci's yellow crackling off it. "And it always will."

"Very well," the priest said. "You are the last test I must vanquish. Now come! Strike me down! _HEAVENLY WRATH!"_

" _Shave. Electroshock Excision."_

Vinci landed on the cobblestones with a thump.

Machitus landed with two.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"What the fuck…" I mutter with a bloody mouth as Vinci somehow starts making _fucking lightning_ and rips Crazy McNuthouse in half. I scrub it away with the back of a hand and sprint over as my captain goes to one knee, panting.

"Christ, Vinci, what the hell did you do?" I ask as I offer him a hand up. He grins.

"Dahahaha...well, the King's Heart is meant for a King. And before a King can rule the world, he must rule himself."

"English, you nutjob," I growl.

"Fiiiine. The glowing gold organ I grew in a glass tube and linked to my veins gives me a bit of shapeshifting and regeneration. Anything I have knowledge of, I can imitate."

I stare. "You're bullshit and your science is bullshit."

"Yep, dahahahaha…" His grin thins as he looks over the silent battlefield, and he nods to himself. "Alright," he says, starting to roll up his sleeves. "Time to get to work."

* * *

There was a light. Was he...supposed to go towards it? Wasn't that the whole schtick?

Maybe it was...but he had people to keep looking after. Right?

Yeah. He did.

It wasn't time to-

"Clear."

Lightning clouded his vision, jittering down his skull and filling his veins with fire.

Pravilno's eyes snapped open- and almost immediately closed again, because the captain grinning down at you was something _nobody_ wanted to wake up to.

The sound of a scalpel thudding into the wood of the operating table less than an inch from his ear convinced him to open them again, though.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Dobre," Vinci hissed. "Now, let me explain something to you. In the past twenty-four hours, I've been electrocuted, lacerated, battered, and generally kicked about, and the rest of the crew is almost as bad off. If you _think_ I'm letting you die from something as _simple_ as blunt force trauma, you have another thing coming. You. Do. Not. Have. My. Permission. To. Die. Understood?"

"N-n-noted," Pravilno stuttered as Vinci's eyes flared gold.

"Good. Now get off my operating table."

Pravilno practically leapt off the bloodsoaked wood, vaguely noting that he'd been stripped to the waist and that there were an awful lot of new surgical scars on his torso, a pair of facts he filed away for freaking out about later.

"Oh, and Mr. Dobre?" Another trio of scalpels slammed into the doorframe right next to his head and hand, and he jerked back. Vinci's grin never faltered. "If you're stupid enough to get injured because you decided to start an emotional backstory in the middle of a battle...next time that happens, I'll _geld_ you and see if it makes you less stupid."

Pravilno gulped. "Understood," he managed to squeak out.

* * *

"All things considered, we got off light," Jack said.

Vinci grunted as he watched the party. It was going surprisingly well, considering a pall of pyre smoke was still faintly visible even as far from the site as the docks were.

It said a lot about what the townsfolk had done to each other that the survivors didn't want to bury the ones Machitus had led. Not even those few who'd had family among the army.

Vinci had made sure that that book, or rather its remnants, had gone on the pyre. He still wasn't sure what exactly had made Machitus so confident in it, but it had done... _something_. Something he didn't yet have the knowledge to explain.

Yet. But that was why he wanted to go to the Line. The knowledge was out there, he simply had to find it.

The battle hadn't left the Nightmares unscathed. Just about every member of the crew had been wounded at least once, and while much of it was minor...the oni were still in critical condition, as were several others who'd been cut down by that one fat bastard Lauren had taken out.

Speaking of said bastard…

"Looting done?" he asked. Jack nodded.

"Like you said, captain, nobody's touched the shells. We found a couple dozen more in the church, hidden under some floorboards. Not sure what they all are…" He paused, and shuffled awkwardly, an almost ridiculous motion from such a big man.

"What happened?" Vinci asked flatly.

Jack shrugged. "A couple of them started fooling around with the ones we took from the knights, one of them dislocated a shoulder, another's got a couple fractured ribs. Medics patched them up, though."

"Heh. They figured out to leave them be, then?"

"Real damn quick."

"Good."

There was a bit of silence, broken only by the sounds of the celebration.

"We're still going to train, and take on supplies, right?" Jack asked quietly.

Vinci nodded. "More of the former. I don't think they have much to spare."

"That'll mean we'll have to sneak into Hangman's Town, captain." And avoid the Marine garrison there, his quartermaster didn't say but Vinci heard anyway.

He shrugged. "We'd have to do that anyway. Better that when we do, we're stronger."

Jack nodded. "Aye, captain. How long are we going to stay?"

"Couple weeks. Recover on the first one, train on the second. And I'll be getting Kaneki to help me with teaching everyone who can some of the more...impossible things."

Jack gulped, but straightened his shoulders. "We won't let you down, captain." He paused. "And...the girl?"

Vinci looked down from _Ends Justified's_ rail. He caught Kaneki for half a second, surrounded by _children_ , of all things, telling some sort of story. Herman, meditating in a corner and being imitated by half a dozen young men with trimmed branches instead of swords on their laps. Even a couple of the oni, masks pushed up on their heads as they limped around, laughing and joking with the other partiers. And the Lauren girl, smiling as Pravilno told some story that was like as not as truthful as it was moderate. He smiled. "I said she's crew, didn't I? She proved herself...and I think it'll be interesting to see what she becomes capable of."

"Aye, captain."

* * *

 _Burning, the fire in her bones and turning her flesh to steam and screams-_

Lauren practically catapulted out of bed, gasping for air.

Fuck. Nightmares again.

She wasn't a scared little girl. She shouldn't have been having these...these _horrors_ in her dreams.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the last traces of the dream as she padded out of the tiny cabin she'd been granted- something the pirate captain had given her when she'd asked to stay on his ship rather than in her far-too-empty home, even with the captain staying docked in town.

Fuck it. She needed to clear her head. Walls were too close here, too confining.

To her surprise, someone was up outside as well, the dark making it difficult to tell exactly who.

One of the deckboards creaked under her feet, and the figure turned. Red irises flared, and she took a step back, nearly falling back down the stairs.

"Let me guess, couldn't sleep," the cannibalistic first mate snarked.

Fuck. It wasn't as though he was going to attack _her._ The day after the battle, the captain had filled her in on Kaneki's...condition. It was horrifying...and the man was unquestionably a monster...but she'd seen him telling stories to children, playing music…

"You coming up or not?"

She shook her head, and stepped out onto the deck. There was a decent breeze, and as she walked up to the rail she felt some of the cobwebs in her head clear away with the smell of salt.

There was silence for a moment.

"Why're you up here?" she asked.

Kaneki shrugged. "Don't sleep much. Volunteered for the night watch. You?"

"...nightmares," she admitted.

"Hrm. You feel guilty?"

"What? About killing him? I…" She shook her head. "No. Didn't...like it, but it was him or me. It's about everything beforehand." She sighed. "Fuck, and here I thought being a pirate would help me move on or something. Instead all I've done is brood."

"Grief's allowable," Kaneki commented vaguely. "There's no shame in it...or in anger."

"What, you think I'm going to break down over losing my parents to those bastards?" she said flatly. "I'm not that weak, and we put the bastards who did it in the ground."

Kaneki shrugged. "Like I said. No shame in grief or rage." He turned to face her, and despite the dark she caught the gleam of a smile. "Whatever you feel, conquer it and move on. That's my philosophy."

"It work?"

Another shrug. "Keeps me from feeling too guilty about what I've gotta do to survive. So, yeah."

"Huh."

Kaneki shifted his weight slightly as they both remained silent, the only sound the waves lapping at the docks.

"You sure piracy's what you want?" he asked quietly.

"What, you think I don't have the stomach for it?"

"Nah, you've got grit...but being a pirate more often than not means killing people. We aren't saints."

She glared at him.

"I mean people who weren't responsible for the deaths of most of the people you loved," Kaneki clarified.

 _Screams and flames, the pleading of the condemned-_

"I'll be fine," she said shortly.

"Suit yourself." Kaneki smiled. "By the by, training starts tomorrow. You're gonna have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

"Okay," I say very calmly. "I can understand the medical education. And the tools that go with it. Makes sense with how you were planning to set out. I can even understand you having learned some borderline-insane doctoring stuff before you left, you're a smart guy."

Vinci grins nervously as my eyes shift.

" _BUT HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MANAGE TO SMUGGLE A SIX POWERS SCROLL WITH EVERYTHING ELSE?! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU EVEN HAVE THAT? I THOUGHT YOU COULDN'T EVEN USE THE DAMN THINGS!"_ I scream, abandoning all pretensions of calm at the sheer _bullshit_ I'm faced with.

"Marine commodore grandpa," Vinci says calmly.  
"You're fucking joking. That excuse can't excuse him committing what I'm pretty sure is treason...fuck, even if he was retired…"

"Did I ever tell you what happened to my parents?" Vinci said, suddenly extremely calm in a way that makes me back up _fast._

"No," I say. "What's that got to do with the Six Powers scroll?"

"There was a major campaign conducted...twenty years ago. I was a baby at the time. Twelve fleets, assigned to scour the West Blue from the Calm Belt all the way to the Red Line. My parents were supposed to be part of it, but they sent me to my grandpa in the South Blue beforehand. I think they wanted to make sure I couldn't be caught in the crossfire as they went after all the criminals. But here's the thing...that campaign was meant to have 13 fleets. Except the 13th Royal Flotilla, the one my parents were part of...it objected to the campaign. It objected to hunting down an eight-year-old girl, Nico Robin, the Devil Child of Ohara. And for that, the Marines...no, _one_ Marine, killed them all." His voice is perfectly steady, and the meeting room is utterly silent. Not one of us dares say a word. "My grandpa was already retired. But he wasn't happy with what happened...or why." He smiled. "I have very few things to remember my parents by. A few scientific texts my mother loved, some of my father's medical tools. And this scroll, where they recorded everything they knew about combat and the human body." He smiles. I start sweating. "So please, don't call my small inheritance treason, hmm?"

"Our captain is terrifying…" Herman mutters, sweating profusely.

I nod. "Sorry, captain. Just a bit of a shock, is all."

Vinci sits back in his chair. "It's alright. Bit of a touchy subject, dahahaha…" he replies.

"Okay," Jack says. "So we've got the means to learn these...Six Powers."

"Ehh…" Vinci says with a shrug. "Sort of. Most of the crew will probably only be able to do one or two for now. And everyone's got their specialities." He smiles. "You guys, though, you're officers. I'm going to expect all of you to be at least functional with the full set."

"In a week, captain?" Jack asks, while Herman leans forwards, clearly interested. I just sigh. This is going to be hell to time properly, getting an entire crew up from Blues standards- tougher than normal Blues standards with what training we've done, but still Blues standards- to people able to handle at least one of the Six Powers... _and_ working them out myself. In a week.

Vinci grins, and pulls out a small bottle of bright red pills. "Yes, in a week," the captain says, tossing the bottle to Jack. "Those little things are basically hyper-concentrated vitamins. Plus a rather unethical blend of my own personal creation."

"Unethical?" I ask sharply. Vinci's grin widens.

"Well, they are harvested from a rare species of humanoid…"

"First off, fuck you for making me wonder what you'd been getting up to, and second off... _STOP FUCKING USING ME AS A STEROID YOU BASTARD!"_ I shout, slamming my hands onto the table.

"Dahahahaaha! But your cells are so useful!"

"So wait, we're eating bits of Kaneki?" Herman inquires, looking at the bottle with a grimace.

"Nope, just things I grew from bits of him and then extracted the useful stuff from. I'm pretty sure it won't make you ghouls. Mostly. Maybe."

"Your confidence in your own science is _so_ reassuring," I say flatly.

"Hey, if it works it works. So quartermaster, start distributing them among the crew, one pill for each of them should more than suffice."

Jack nods, slowly. "Aye, captain."


	5. Hangman's Town Arc- Chapters 25-30

I flop onto my back, panting.

I don't think I've _ever_ been this exhausted. Not even training with Zoss, and that had been...interesting.

Fucking Six Powers bullshit…

"Dahahaha, Kaneki, aren't you supposed to be a regenerator?"

"Cram it, captain," I mutter. "Even I have my limits, and y'all might be hyped up on those pills, but I've got to make do with long jerky." I sit up slowly, wincing as my muscles protest in ways I haven't felt for a long time.

I thought _I_ was a bit of a slave driver when it came to strengthening the crew, but Vinci's on a whole nother level. Endless repetition and drill, only broken up by sparring matches meant to force everyone to develop one or more of the Powers.

It was definitely helping, though. I pull a packet of jerky from inside my jacket and munch on it as I watch the others work for a few moments, catching my breath. Twenty pairs of fighters square off against each other, some of them blurring momentarily as they try to execute Shaves, others blocking attacks with bare hands, a few flowing past their opponent's blows instead of running away or blocking. Nobody in the grunt teams have managed a Tempest Kick or a Finger Pistol, but according to the frankly disturbingly detailed descriptions in the Grigori family's scroll both of those were the more difficult of the Six. What's weirding me out is that, out of everyone, Lauren is one of the ones picking it up the fastest, especially Paper Art.

Hm. Something about beginner's luck and/or not having to un-learn bad habits? Or maybe she's just talented.

Vinci's taken up my spot against Herman, while Jack is dealing with both Pravilno and Ostavila at once and doing a decent enough job at it. I don't know where Ostavila got a meteor hammer or when she learned to use it, and frankly I don't want to, because that woman terrifies me.

Where the _hell_ does she even keep all those knives, anyhow? It's not like she's got an abundance of hiding spots, even with the jacket she's got only shorts and a shirt, not exactly concealing clothing…

"Can we talk, boss, or do you want to keep looking?"

I blink, and stand, turning to face the group of six that's approached me. "I'm not your boss," I say with a shrug. "That's the captain's job."

Marshall Eka, Charny Dui, Douglass Tina, Cara Percy, Tancred Pamca, and Cha Chandos. I made sure to remember their names, this time. I'm glad they all survived, but the degree of attachment they're displaying is a little...disconcerting.

Eka just shakes his head at my refusal. "Call it what you like, boss. The nose don't lie."

I narrow my eyes. "Explain."

"You know why we didn't go after the rest of the crew while we were raging, boss? Because your...hell, I don't want to call it scent, sounds creepy, but that's what it is...well, we could tell who was the strongest of us. Still can, actually...and no, we've been talking and it don't look like we've got the weirder bits of your powers, but you _are_ the boss. Everyone else on the crew just smells a bit like you, but you're the source."

Well, great.

"Alright," I groan. "Fine. I'm the boss to you. What's it you want to talk about?"

Eka glances towards his comrades. They nod as one. "Think you can handle six on one? With the Dials? We're...still a good bit tougher than the others, it looks like, and sparring against each other isn't helping us get stronger."

I look them over. Each of them carries an Impact Dial- probably because they're some of the crew who can handle it without blowing out a shoulder- and Tina and Pamca, the most heavily-built of the six, have Axe Dials as well. It's a good thing Vinci dug up a list of the damn things and how they functioned among Machitus's loot...I really didn't want to say what they were and make him wonder.

I grin, and crack my knuckles. "Fair enough," I say to the six. "Pretty sure the captain intends to work us all till we drop. So, demons vs. a bird of prey, start-"

I push, tired muscles screaming at the effort but complying, and come out of the Shave right next to the near-albino wall of muscle that is Pamca. My heel slams into the side of his head and sends him bouncing off into the forest.

"-now," I finish with a grin.

The remaining five all look at me.

Six sets of irises flare red, and the fight's on.

* * *

"One thing I never figured," Herman muttered as _Ends Justified_ slowly drew towards the island. "Why the hell didn't those Marine bastards try to call up more reinforcements to deal with us? Hell, think some of them were waving when we left."

"We cleaned up one of their messes," Kaneki muttered back. "Figures they'd be a mite more accomodating. Now these guys...don't think so."

Vinci grinned at their conversation as he took in Hangman's Town. The town itself was bustling, a product of being the South Blue's entrance to the Grand Line, the last chance to stock up on resources...and also due to the strong Marine garrison whose base dominated the skyline in the distance.

As for what gave it the name...his vision, ever-so-steadily improving, could make out the field of gibbets and cages that marked Drop Spit, the promontory extending out to Vinci's left from the town itself. Bare, windswept, and morbid. Pirates didn't last long here unless they were strong enough to take on the garrison, and given the reputation the Captain here had…

He shook his head. There was a _reason_ they were taking _Ends Justified_ in with the unmarked spare sails and no flag. They could pass for a privateer or a heavily-armed private vessel this way. So long as nobody got noticed…

He looked over his crew. Jack had cut his immense beard down to a frankly hilarious set of mutton-chops, and was wearing a double-breasted green coat to conceal the tattoo of the Nightmare symbol on his chest. Kaneki had grown his hair out slightly and discarded jacket and mask in favor of short sleeves and sunglasses. Herman had added an extremely wide-brimmed hat (the right side folded up to not interfere with his sword draw) and had discarded his usual black cloak for a blue hoodie. The rest of the crew had made similar preparations, the normal white jackets going away and replaced with a profusion of casual clothing and strange bits and pieces- where Lauren had found a purple waistcoat, black coat, and red-banded black top hat he'd never know. He had a feeling she was concealing a decent chunk of their armory under that getup.

For his part, Vinci had reluctantly discarded his lab coat in favor of a hooded grey cloak, the cowl deep enough to hide his face. That was the problem with his scars...instantly recognizable and memorable. The cloak would also be fairly suspicious, but it couldn't be helped. He glanced up at the cloudy skies. At least it'd be believable with the weather the way it was…

"Money's going to be short after this, with what you want me to get," Jack grumbled as their ship made its way to the docks. "You sure about this?"

"No idea if the equipment'll be on the Line," Vinci said back. "And if money's a problem...we're pirates. We'll figure something out."

Kaneki chuckled. "Aw, but we've had such a good streak of only killing assholes," he said with a grin. "Sure you want to break that, captain?"

"Named the ship what I did for a reason, birdy," Vinci replied.

"Huh. Never did ask what those ends were gonna be."

"Tell you what...when we head over Reverse Mountain, I'll fill you all in...if you all tell me your own reasons."

Kaneki went still for a moment, then shrugged. "Fair. It's an interesting tale for me, so at least the crew won't be bored."

"There's the proper way to think of it. So, you got plans?" Vinci asked.

Kaneki glanced towards the six oni, off in their own little group. "Thinking I'm going to take my share of the cash, buy up some better clothing and some decent weapons for the others," he said. "You?"

Vinci shrugged. "Jack's got most of what I want on his list. I'll be making a couple...interesting purchases, though."

"Illegal?"

"Mostly because the chemicals in question are some of the deadliest poisons extracted from South Blue wildlife, yep," Vinci said casually.

Kaneki sighed. "You're nuts, captain."

"Would you have it any other way?"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Herman did not like most books.

He wasn't stupid- he knew how to read and write, and do his numbers- but he still didn't like reading. Half the damn things written down were about pointless shit like times when Noble Kusotaba the Numpty-Somethingth had dipped his crumpet the wrong way during a tea ceremony hosted by Kusotaba the Other-Ludicrously-High-Number and started a war. The remaining half seemed to be mostly random stories, instruction manuals for useless hobbies, or porn.

All in all, there were only three categories of books Herman tolerated. The first was swordsmanship manuals- not for teaching, they were rubbish at it, but for the fact that most pirates who thought they were decent swordsmen picked up one of said manuals and tended to follow it religiously. The second was ship classifications, and that was because knowing the maximum speed of a given vessel was always useful. The third and last was the category to which the book he was currently reading belonged to.

 _Amakatta, the Berserker's Blade. Great Grade Sword. Forged in 1338 Kaienreki. Attained Graded Status in 1341 Kaienreki, after sundering the armor of the Giant King Ymir and striking him down, according to legend. Traditionally passed down the line of Grit, the last known wielder being Grit Sandor, who used it to slay, again, according to legend, five 'demons of great power, who referred to themselves as the Hand of the Uncaring God'. Vanished in 1383 Kaienreki, current status unknown. Other names: 'The Sundering Blade', 'The Giantslayer'. According to legend, is cursed (see: Kitetsu line)._

He nodded, and touched Amakatta's hilt. Cursed...well, that made sense.

Now, what was the name of that thing Kaneki had mentioned...nothing in the Great Grades, or the Skillful or Basic Grades...that left…nah. He'd have heard the name before, right?

Despite his own misgivings, he flipped to the section of the Meito book concerning Legendary swords.

Well, shit.

 _Atamajokyo, the Executioner's Blade. Legendary Grade Sword. Forged in 1066 Kaienreki. Attained Graded Status in 1067 Kainereki, after, according to legend, shattering the form of Niyoku Michael the Heavenly Tyrant with a single stroke, and destroying much of the island on which the conflict in question was fought with the same attack. Clearly exaggeration. Nonetheless, is considered a relic of the Arima line, allegedly descended from the legendary heroine who wielded it, Arima Ali Zun, the Queen of the Third and Single Eye. The Atamajokyo, under its name of 'The Executioner's Blade', is considered one of the Seven Relics of the Arima Line, traditionally divided amongst the seven councillors to the ruling monarch of the Sevenfold Kingdom, located in the New World. According to myth, if Atamajokyo's wielder betrays the monarch, it will attempt to kill the wielder by driving poisoned needles into his or her body via its own hilt. This is obviously superstition, as the last of the Arima line, Arima Zoss, was deposed in 1533, and no reports of the death of its current wielder have been recorded._

The New World? Kaneki had a _great deal_ of explaining to do.

* * *

Vinci moderated his smile as he entered the building. Grinning like he usually did, when entering a place like this...well, it was bad form, and tended to be rather disconcerting to the clerks.

"Can I help you, sir?" one of the men asked as he approached the desk.

"Yes," he said. "I was wondering- do you have any animals available for adoption?"

* * *

"Surprised you found a place like this so quickly, boss," Eka muses, scratching at his black beard as he scans the bar. We'd managed to get a booth large enough to fit me and all six of the oni.

I shrug. "It's easy to tell where good coffee is. We're just lucky they sell other things as well."

"Yeah. Coffee's good, but ale's better," Tina says. The woman's Amazonian physique seems a little too large for the booth...albeit, next to Pamca, it doesn't seem all that intimidating, the oddly pale white-haired man filling up enough space for two people of normal size, and not an ounce of it fat.

Dui sniffs. How someone as fastidious as him ended up on a pirate crew I have _no_ idea...ditto how someone with dark _blue_ hair exists. Probably dye. "Ale," he says disdainfully. "Give me wine any day."

"You're drinking whiskey," Percy notes. The shaved-headed prizefighter leans back in his section of our booth, clutching his own mug of ale.

"Because the vintages here are _dreadful._ "

"How the hell are you a pirate?" I ask flatly.

Chandos laughs, nearly dipping his beaklike nose and mustache into his coffee in the process. "He's got you there, dandy. Half the time you act more like high society than a buccaneer."

"I see nothing wrong with manners," Dui says, sounding offended...before chuckling. "We've all got interesting stories, though."

"Ah, thass great," Tina slurs, and _wow_ she got drunk _fast._ What the hell is wrong with her metabolism? "Tell usssss..."

"You're a druunk."

Percy too? The hell?

I glance at my own drink for a second...and then catch the bartender, watching our booth intently. I wait for him to look away, then sniff my own drink.

Shit.

I put out a hand just before Pamca can take his first mouthful of ale. "Don't."

Everyone glances at me- and then each of them put down their own drinks, untouched save for Tina and Percy, who are quietly bickering.

I sigh. "Figures. Looks like I need to work on disguises," I say, very softly, as a couple of men in Marine uniforms enter. "Get the two back to the ship. I'll see what time I can buy you. Draw them off."

"Sure, boss," Eka says, putting a hand on the dagger at his waist. "Think you can handle what gets sent you way, or should I call up the captain?"

"Nah. Keep it quiet." I slide out of the booth and stand, putting a hand on my trench spike as I swagger to the Marines, who are speaking quietly with the bartender.

Sloppy. _Very_ sloppy. But let's see how long we can make the charade last. I grin-

Okay that's a shotgun pointed in my face.

So, three seconds?

I smile at the bartender, who's holding the shotgun and sweating profusely, as I close my hand over the end slowly. "Now, now...no need for that mess. Would cause an awful lot of trouble." I see the man's fingers start to pull the trigger. "Iron Bo-"

 _Boom!_

Agh! Fuck! "Goddammit you son of a bitch fist-fucking mother-f-" I keep ranting as the lead shot falls from my hand, a few pieces staying stuck in the mess of burnt meat that my palm currently is. Note to self- _work on fucking Iron Body._

"You're under arrest, pi-"

 _Schunk. Schlunk. Thump-thump._

I straighten as two bodies- and two heads- hit the floor within moments of each other, and glare at the one responsible. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

Killer's masked face regards me impassively. "You looked like you needed a...hand."

I flip him off with my burned hand. "Don't fuck around with puns. You know how much trouble we're going to be in now?"

The oni have made it out the back. Good. If I have to fight him...hmm. Wonder if he's gotten stronger.

Killer shrugs. "Not as much as my captain was planning to cause anyway. And yours too."

I groan. "Kid's going to look for a fight _again?_ "

"He was planning to blast the hell out of this place anyway. Spotting your ship in harbor just meant he's going to try to call out your captain again. If he's alive."

Why would he question- right. He cut out Vinci's eyes, he'd probably assume our crew murdered him and got a new captain. Fucking psychopath.

"He's alive. And pissed," I say. "You going to fight me now, or you just here to deliver aggravating messages?"

"Was planning to make it look good, but…" he glances at the Marine corpses, and at the terrified bartender hiding under said bar. "Want to go kill the Commodore in charge of this base?" he asks.

"You ask like you think I'm into killing Marines for the hell of it."

"Bastard hangs more than just pirates. Anyone who associates with them, for one. Even children. I mean, we'd kill him anyway, Kid wants to make a statement, but this makes it easier."

I blink. Well, then... "Sure. I could eat."

"...huh. So the bounty crimes _are_ real."

"You're surprised?"

"Not particularly."

"Good. Now, try to keep up, Massacre Soldier."

"Try not to get in my way, Butcher Bird."

We walk out of the bar.

I blink.

"Hey, Killer?"

"Yeah?"

"Were this many armed Marines in front of the bar when you walked in?"

"No, Kaneki, no there weren't."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Captain, why do you have a pack of hounds?" Lauren asked dubiously, watching as Vinci was practically dragged onboard by a trio of shaggy and gigantic mutts.

The captain grinned. "Reasons, very good reasons."

"Is it an abomination against the laws of nature?" Pravilno asked as he leaned back on the rail, puffing away at his cigarette.

"For once, no," the captain said with a shrug.

"Then...what, then?" Lauren asked, looking at the dogs. One meowed, and she sweatdropped. "Are you _sure_ they're all dogs?"

"Oh, right." Vinci drove a hand into the ruff at one dog's neck and pulled out a kitten. "And this little guy. For catching any rodents aboard ship."

"Oh, so you don't have a dog that meows," Lauren said. "Good. For a moment I thought sanity was dead."

The dog meowed again, and Lauren facepalmed. "Forget what I said," she mumbled.

"How'd you get back- sit, mutts- faster than me?" Vinci asked curiously. "Thought you were going to get more guns."

She glanced over at Pravilno, and Ostavila beside him.

"I know a guy," the pompadoured gunslinger said.

"And I knew how to convince said guy to...move a bit faster," the leather-tough piratess said with a sly smile.

Vinci blinked. "Okay, fair. But I don't see any guns."

Lauren smiled, and shot her hands forwards. With a scraping sound two derringers appeared in her hands like magic. "Two two-shot snub pistols…" The guns vanished back into her sleeves and the holsters hidden there in an instant, and she reached under her coat, pulling free a sawn-off shotgun from her back. "...a ten-gauge double-barrelled shotgun…" She twirled, sending her coat flaring and concealing the motion as she holstered the shotgun across her back and grabbed at the leg holsters the coat normally concealed. "Two mare's-leg rifles," she continued, spinning the weapons without cocking them before returning them to their place and pulling on the leather strap across her chest, yanking the folded-up weapon on her back into place and pulling the thing into ready configuration. "...and a 1.00 caliber anti- _everything_ assassin's rifle," she said with a grin. "What do you think?"

"Dahahaha...how do you carry the ammunition for all that?"

She grinned, and held open the sides of the coat- and the dozens of loops and pockets within. "I have bullets for days."

"Bullets for days?"

"Bullets for daaaays~"

"Dahahahaa, you've really got a lot of firepower squirreled away. Ain't got nothing on me, though."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really, captain? Prove it."

"Alright." Vinci tied the leads of the three hounds to the rail and dropped the cat on the deck, where it vanished through a grate into the lower decks. He shook out his hands, and Lauren noticed some of the crew watching, with more popping up by the second.

"Let's start things off with the scalpels," the captain said with a grin. He shook his hands, and a half-dozen of the tiny surgical knives embedded themselves in the deck. Vinci paused, frowned, and wriggled his hands again.

A massive _flood_ of scalpels erupted from his sleeves, clattering to the deck and forming a knee-high pile of pointy metal.

Lauren stared. "How the _hell_ do you not cut yourself while moving?"

"Practice," Vinci said. "And now the surgical thread." A half dozen spools joined the pile. "And the bonesaw." _Clang!_ "And, let's see, various chemical reagents," he added, as a dozen large jars and glass tubes with bright contents joined the pile. Lauren instinctively took a step back as she read a couple of the labels on said jars. "And then of course the combat drugs." Another dozen bottles, these containing pills of various kinds, including the ones she'd taken alongside the rest of the crew during training. "And last but not least, my handy-dandy magic murder bag." _Thunk._ Vinci grinned. "Anyone able to beat that?"

Ostavila considered the pile for a moment. Then she took off her coat, and shook it once.

The resulting flood of weaponry nearly reached her waist.

" _HOW?!"_ Lauren, and just about everyone on the ship screamed simultaneously.

"Practice," the veteran pirate said with a smile.

"Ahoy the ship, who's- DOG!"

Something slammed into Lauren, nearly sending her over the rail. She staggered, clutching the massive- book? The hell?- to her chest.

"Hoosa good boy, is it you? Yesit is! Yesitis!"

"Worf!"

"Bork!"

"Meow!"

Lauren carefully lowered the ludicrously oversized book to the deck, and peeked over it.

That was... _Herman._ Baby-talking a trio of dogs that looked like they ate little old ladies for a living. _Wrestling with them._

"What the hell am I watching…" she muttered.

"Okay, I've been near Kaneki while he's been eating, and that is _still_ the most terrifying thing I've ever seen...but I think this makes the top ten," Vinci said distantly.

"Are they trying to kill each other or trying to- okay, he just let them off leash and transformed into a dog, definitely playing," Pravilno said, equally distantly.

Sweatdrops abounded as the quartet of dogs rampaged across the deck.

"Let me guess," Ostavila muttered quietly, gathering up her weaponry. "This is exactly what you had in mind, captain."

"Dahahahaha….pretty much," Vinci admitted as he returned the pile of scalpels and surgical equipment to their proper places. "That, and I want to see if it works on Kaneki, too."

Lauren pictured the thought of the ghoul frolicking with dogs. She shuddered. The image was just... _way_ too strange.

"Ahoy the ship!"

Jack's voice. Finally, someone _sane._ She let go of the mega-book and rushed to the rail.

Who the _hell_ were these assholes?

"Dahahahaha! Looks like you were pretty successful, Jack," Vinci said, sauntering down the gangplank to greet the huge man and the twenty or so others arrayed behind him. They looked like street thugs and criminals, why...oh. Right. _Pirates._

"Look in the right places, even in a Marine town, there's somewhere to find crew," Jack said. "The supplies should've arrived before...oi! Bowes! It loaded?"

"Supplies're all good, bosun!" one of the crew- Bowes, she guessed, she'd seen him play shanties with Kaneki- shouted back.

"Alright! Cap'n?"

"We'll sail soon as we can, get the men on board," Vinci said with a nod. "Welcome to the crew, lads. The Line awaits, and it'll be...dahahahaha... _interesting._ "

For a moment, Lauren thought some of the men were going to turn back, several of them visibly turning pale. But they followed Jack on board.

"Ahoy the ship!"

A _third_ one? And this asshole sported a mohawk and greasepaint, like some demented combination of a clown and a punk rocker. The captain looked visibly taken aback, before sighing. "What?"

"You Vinci?"

"Damn straight. Who the hell are you?"

"Just a messenger. Captain Kid wants to meet you, on Drop Spit."

The captain froze. Lauren gave Pravilno a look as the pompadoured man approached the rail. "Who's Captain Kid?" she whispered.

"Shit, you joined after...some punk with magnetic powers that went after us. Cut out the captain's eyes. He got new ones, but still...shit. He's calling the captain out again? This isn't going to end well."

"So, Vinci?" the punk clown rocker asked. "You gonna come with me, or-"

Lauren didn't even see Vinci move. One second he was standing there, the second he was holding the clown rocker by the neck, the man making sputtering noises as he dangled a foot above the ground.

"No need," the captain said, in an extremely calm voice. "I can find my way just fine."

There was a muffled cracking noise, and the rocker went limp.

Vinci walked back up the gangplank to utter silence. The crew, Lauren included, watched, wondering what he'd do next.

Vinci smiled. A soft, normal, gentle smile. "Jack? Put this away for Kaneki later," he said calmly, dropping the body to the deck. "I'll be gone for a little while, if that's okay. Now, where's Kaneki?"

The distant bulk of the Marine base went up in flames.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Oh god the Marine base is burning!"

"Water! Get buckets!"

Vinci ignored the screams and panicked running of civilians and low-ranking Marines alike as he walked through the streets, scythe on his shoulders. The wind, a good one, right out of harbor and straight for the Line, tugged at his cloak, showing the lab coat underneath, and he had his hood down, and yet none tried to stop him.

He didn't particularly care if they did, but cutting down their ineffectual attempts to bar his way would have been tedious.

The King's Heart thundered in his ears, twinned to his own heartbeat. He wondered if what he had created resented being forced into him early, half-made and uncertain as it had been. He wondered if it knew that the one responsible for that was who they would be facing.

Distant, but he caught sight of a flame-haired figure. Out on Drop Spit, just as promised.

Kid.

Vinci's lips drew back from his teeth in a smile that wasn't a smile at all.

The stones under his footsteps turned to dirt, then to sand, and then to bare rock, as he walked out to Drop Spit. The cages and gibbets clinked and clattered in the wind as he approached. Kid turned.

"Huh," the punk remarked. "So Carr's dead, then?"

Vinci didn't answer.

Kid spat to the side. "Fine. Didn't like the fucker much anyway. Still, surprised you're alive. And with brand-new eyes, heh." He cocked his head. "Your little bird isn't around to call me off anymore, nursey. Got Killer keeping him busy on a little...errand. So...let's finish what we started. _Attract!"_

Chains and manacles uncoiled from the gibbets, and launched themselves like striking snakes at Vinci, pinning his arms to his sides as they coiled around him.

Vinci sighed.

Idiot.

"Do you know what happens when you run electrical current around a piece of metal?" he asked conversationally.

"Does it look like I give a fuck?" Kid asked, gesturing and causing the cocoon of chains to tighten to uncomfortable levels.

"You should. It demagnetizes it. _Degauss._ " Electricity burned through his veins and flashed over the metal, and the chains dropped to the ground. Vinci stepped over the pile. Kid took a step back.

"Now," Vinci said, keeping the calm in his voice as his heartbeats cranked up, "Let's try this again."

* * *

"You aren't killing any of them."

I shrug, absent-mindedly using one of my tails to swat aside a sword-wielding Marine. "Not much point, is there? Also, why is the base on fire?" I ask politely, as one of the burning buildings collapses.

Killer shrugs. "Rest of the crew isn't exactly restrained, maybe they did it?"

"Eh, fair." I dodge a hammer-wielding Marine's strike with Paper Art- one of the Six I'm actually _decent at_ , unlike Iron Body, Moonwalk, and Finger Pistol- and kick him in the side, sending him flying.

"What did you mean by there being no- _hrrn-_ point?" Killer asks as he uses his spinning scythes to cut down a group of Marines.

"Whenever there's something wrong with a Marine base, it's usually at the top. Captain being an asshole, and the Marines can't do shit about it because said captain could kick their collective asses. Same applies to Vice Admirals, even the Admirals. Rank and file aren't necessarily evil shits, just unable to do anything about the evil shits."

"So kill 'em. They don't have backbone."

I tank a fusillade of bullets with my tails, grin, and send the offending cluster of Marines scattering like tenpins. "See, this is why you keep getting bounty increases. That sociopathic behavior won't help at all in the New World, you need allies if you don't want to be lackey to one of the Emperors."

"The hell do you know about the New World?" Killer grunts, using his latest opponent as a springboard to start tearing into another cluster of Marines.

"A lot more than you know, Slicey McDicey," I say. Hmm. I'm out of people to fight. Where-

" _Gavel."_

 _SLAM!_

Owww…

Hello Mr. Butterfly, where are you going? I hope it's nice…

" _Conviction."_

Then the gigantic hook-claw-thing clamps onto my ankle, and I'm yanked out of the cozy pile of rubble and up into the sky as the equally massive chain goes taut.

" _Sentencing."_

A fist, one I barely make out as belonging to a normal-sized human, slams into my chest, cracking ribs and sending blood flying out of my mouth as the hook is torn from my ankle and I go sprawling into the dirt.

"I suppose I should have expected you to come here," the blurry shape that my vision is gradually resolving into the form of a tall, grey-buzz-cut-haired Marine in an officer's coat says. "But allying with the Kid Pirates? Did you forsake your previous captain with such ease, pirate scum?" He picks up the claw-hook, holding the sickle at the other end of the long chain in his off hand, and starts paying out chain for the weapon as he begins to swing it slowly.

"Scum?" I wheeze, hacking up what would probably be a worrying amount of blood if I wasn't what I was. Alright. One foot on the ground. Get up, Kaneki. "You hang children, and you call _me_ scum, Marine?"

"Hang- what on earth are you talking about?"

Ribs healed? Yup. Tails- "One tail, two tail, three tail, four. You think I'm stupid? Word is anyone who even associates with a pirate goes to the gallows."

The aging Marine looks incredulous. "If we enacted such a policy, a third of the civilians on this island would be dead and the remaining two thirds tearing this base down around our ears. What kind of fool do you take me for, pirate?"

I stare at him.

Sniff the air. I'm not Herman, but…

Oh.

"I'm a fucking idiot."/"You're a damned idiot," the Marine and I say at the same time.

I sweatdrop as I take a step back. "And here I was, thinking Killer was actually presenting me with a decent moral choice…"

The Marine's face is utterly impassive. "You had no idea _Massacre Soldier Killer_ was lying to you about whether people deserved to be killed."

I sigh. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Ordinarily, no, but since I'm assuming you intend to kill your former ally over there, yes."

"Right. _Shave."_

I launch myself forwards-

" _Gavel."_

-and immediately get snatched by that weird hook-claw and slammed back into the dirt.

"You truly seem to have a difficult time telling when someone is lying to you."

"Fuck...you…" I wheeze. "And also... _Scale Lever."_ My tails shove _hard_ against the confines of the claw, forcing the metal open and hurling me upright in one motion. "Fuck this shit, I'm out- _Shave!"_

My vision shrinks to a tiny tunnel as I barely keep up with my own speed, hurtling out of the Marine base as fast as I can, Shaving like a madman despite the ever-increasing burn in my legs.

Fuck.

Fucking stupid of me, to just fucking _assume-_

No, Kaneki. It's done. Can't be undone.

Fuck. Fuck this, I'm going back to the ship and we're _leaving this fucking place._

* * *

" _PREPARE TO CAST OFF!"_ Jack shouted.

"What about the captain, bosun? And the boss?" Eka, the leader of Kaneki's personal following, asked, looking back at the still-burning Marine base.

Jack pointed towards the town, where a red-tinted black blur was rapidly approaching, growing more defined by the second. He mentally counted to five, set himself, and extended an arm out to the side. " _Iron Body."_

Kaneki, clearly unable to see where he was going, slammed into his arm, and stuck there like a pigeon on a glass window before falling to the deck with a thump. "Anyone get the number of that semi-truck…?" the ghoul mumbled.

Jack shook his arm out with a grimace- even with Iron Body, stopping the idiot had _hurt_ \- and gave Eka a pointed look. The man shrugged.

"Okay, fair enough. The captain?"

"We'll swing by Drop Spit and pick him up on the way. And I just took a look with the spyglass- trust me, he's fine."

Well, that was entirely debatable, but Jack didn't want to make the entire crew panic more than they had already started doing from the moment Vinci- an eerily calm and composed Vinci- had walked off the gangplank as though nothing at all was going on. In truth, Jack was worried. Not about Vinci losing the fight- there was _no_ way the captain would let that happen a second time- but about starting some stupid vendetta. Even if the captain decided to kill Kid instead of doing something stupid like 'paying him back in kind', the survivors would be _pissed_...and Killer had a hefty bounty of fifteen million. Not a touch on the crew's combined, or Kaneki's or the captain's, and most of it was for brutality rather than fighting skill...but still. Tough enough to take on the Line, in all likelihood.

And if Vinci left Kid alive, to take some kind of revenge for his own maiming...there was no telling what would happen. And Jack didn't like that. He was a pirate, not a sentimental fool, and leaving enemies alive to pick up the pieces meant nothing good in the long run.

 _Ends Justified_ seemed to growl as the ship pulled out of harbor, wind lending speed to their sails.

But it appeared the Marines had other ideas, a ship- heavier than the _Ends_ , with massive cannons on their bow- charging towards them.

Jack smiled.

" _RUN OUT THE TRIPLE GUNS!"_ he barked. " _GIVE THEM LEAD, BOYS!"_

" _AYE, BOSUN!"_

" _HERMAN! POINT US RIGHT AT THE BITCH!"_

" _AYE, YA FAT BASTARD, RIGHT ON THAT!"_

The Marine ship fired, the range too long even for their heavy cannon, and the shots went wide, splashing into the sea. One slammed into the town and detonated, but Jack ignored it.

A pair of massive triple-barreled cannon pushed free of the twin gunports at the bow of the _Ends._

And his ship _roared._

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

I pick myself off the deck, and stare at the rapidly sinking remnants of the Marine cruiser. "Holy shit," I breathe. "Our guns can do that?"

"When you pay out for ship-killer shells, yes they bloody well can," Jack says with a grin. "You should be proud, bird boy. That bounty you brought in paid for the damn things." The big man's grin vanishes. "Captain's off fighting Kid on Drop Spit. We're going to swing round and grab him. What the hell happened?"

I give Eka a look. "You tell him yet?"

The oni shakes his head.

"Fine. Bartender figured us out and planned to drug us and turn us in, Marines walked in, Killer showed up and killed them, things escalated, and I bailed after figuring out Killer'd been lying about how much of an evil bastard the local Marine boss was."

I look at the smoke and flames still engulfing the base. "Hopefully the masked bastard's dead now. Captain was a hard nut."

"Coming up on the Spit now!" Herman shouts, and I walk to the rail, narrowing my eyes and trying to pick out where Vinci and Kid _must_ be fighting. It's no good- I don't have the kind of vision the captain has. I grit my teeth, and push my tails out, letting them lash at the air.

"So he's the Butcher Bird…"

"Scary, scary…"

My neck cracks as I glare over my shoulder at the twenty or so men huddled together on deck, looking around. "You the new meat?" I ask flatly, tails going still.

Going by how several of them are starting to sweat I probably could've chosen a better phrase to describe them. Oh, well. I grin. "Well, welcome to the crew, lads. Let me tell you how things work. You'll grow strong, you'll perform impossibilities, and you'll help us sail for the line. And you'll obey orders, first the bosun, then me, then God His Own Self, and last and most important of all-"

Lightning _cracks_ from every bit of metal on the Spit, a shining blue web of light sending shadows across the deck.

"-Captain Grigori Vinci," I finish, grinning like a madman.

 _KRACKA-THOOOM!_

The twenty new recruits look at each other. Then at me. Then, as one, their eyes roll back in their head and they collapse to the deck, foaming at the mouth. Heh.

"Oi, you crazy bastard!" Herman shouts from the deck. "You damn near fried us!"

"Wasn't me!"

"Wasn't talking to you!"

Who-

"Captain on deck!" Jack shouts, and I turn. How the hell- where had Vinci _come_ from?

Judging by his uninjured state and the blood on his cloak and lab coat, he'd won. Easily.

"Vinci," I say. "Kid's dead?"

Vinci looks at me, and his eyes flare gold as he smiles. "No," he says, calmly. "I've done much worse than kill him."

I shrug. "Good."

"What's our heading, captain?" Herman calls.

"The Mountain and the Line!" Vinci shouts back. "We've got wind in our sails, don't we?"

"Aye, captain, setting the course!" Herman yells. "We'll hit Reverse Mountain in a week!"

Vinci nods, and thumps his scythe on the deck for a moment, clearly thinking things over. Then he looks at the unconscious pile of men. "Really?" he asks. "Someone deal with that," he orders. "I'm going to clean the blood out of my clothes. Kaneki, with me."

I fall into step behind him as he walks below decks. "Captain…"

"Yes?"

"What exactly did you do to him?"

* * *

"Get up."

Kid didn't move. He barely had the strength to breathe, much less obey... _whatever_ that freak doctor had become.

"I said get up, you bastard."

His arms and legs felt like jelly, _burning_ jelly, but he put hands on knees and stood anyway. He'd be _damned_ if he died on his belly. "What...what the hell are you…"

The freak grinned, as electricity crawled over his body and his eyes glowed like torches. "Many, many things."

"Fuck...you.." No choice, he had to hit the bastard with everything he had. Even exhausted as he was, he couldn't give up. He raised his left arm-

" _Electroshock Excision."_

-and then he didn't have it anymore as the freak's scythe cut through his shoulder like _nothing_ , the crawling electricity burning the wound shut behind him.

Kid didn't give the freak the courtesy of screaming. But it was close.

The freak's hand closed around Kid's throat, and then slammed him into something- wood, splintered...one of the gibbets?

Kid smiled. "Do it, then," he said, coughing as fractured ribs grated against each other. "Finish me."

Vinci raised the scythe. And then let it fall, the point sinking into the loose soil of the Spit.

What. _What._ _ **What.**_

The freak squatted down in front of him, the aura of lightning fading. "You wanted to be King, didn't you," he said, very quietly. "You took my eyes. Would've done worse if you could...I should kill you. Dahahaha, Jack's probably going to lecture me about this…"

Kid, for once in his life, kept his mouth shut. He was fairly certain if the freak kept talking long enough he could lift that scythe...he'd just need to move his hand…

"But here's the thing. That treasure at the end of the Line? The One Piece that you so badly want? That's my goal, too. You want it for fame, or for power...I want knowledge. I want to see what Roger saw...and so...I'll let you live, Eustass Kid."

Kid lost his weak grip on his power at that statement. The freak's grin widened.

"See, I know how you think. And there's nothing worse I could do to you than leave you broken, _knowing_ that your dream is going to be taken by someone else."

"You...you-"

The butt of the staff pressed against his chest. "Of course, that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you even halfway able to fight us anytime soon. _Defibrillate."_

Kid's world vanished in a crack of thunder.

* * *

"Shiiiiiit," I say flatly. "Okay, one, that was fucking badass, and two-" I grab him by the lapels and snarl in his face. "ARE YOU TRYING TO START A FUCKING PIRATE FEUD?!"

"Dahahahaha….it's going to be fun isn't it?"

I drop him, covering my face with my hands. "Sanity is dead. It's dead and I'm looking at the guy who killed it."

"Meow."

I glare through my fingers at the obviously hallucinatory Saint Bernard. Seriously, meowing dogs? I prod it.

Oh, wait. It's real.

Right, Kaneki, sanity is dead, must really keep up with that. "You, dog!"

"Meow."

" _Why are you doing this."_

"Kaneki-"

"Nope, nope, fuck this. I'm taking this weird meowing murder-hound, going to my cabin, and I'm going to wait for the universe to _make sense again._ "

"Okay, you might be in there for some-"

"Don't. Start."

Ignoring everything. Walking to cabin. Sitting on cot. Okay.

Breathe, Kaneki, breathe. Sure, your captain just ensured that the guy who'd eventually get a bounty higher than Luffy's would be wanting to straight-up murder everyone on this crew and then use their bones as musical instruments, but everything's going to be okay. Definitely.

"Meow."

I stare at the dog. "You are a fucking weird animal…" I mutter, scratching the gigantic dog behind the ears. "Where the hell did Vinci find you?" I'm assuming it's Vinci. Or possibly Herman, given the man's Devil Fruit. "And what the hell does he intend to do with you?"

"Meow."

"Fuck it." I cross my legs, close my eyes, and try to focus. Maybe if I meditate I can stop freaking out well enough to sleep.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"And...let them go."

The men let their weights- ballast stones and similar ludicrously heavy things- slump to the deck, all of them panting from the exertion of keeping the things aloft. Kaneki grinned, and it was telling of their state of exhaustion that none of the new recruits even flinched at the highly disturbing expression.

Lauren waited as Kaneki talked with some of the new recruits, tapping her foot with impatience.

It was kinda funny. A couple weeks ago, she'd have never thought she'd be as strong as she currently was, but right now she was pretty sure she could swing one of those weights barehanded. One pill a day, the captain's orders, and she was growing stronger than she'd ever thought possibly. Meant she had to eat a hell of a lot more than she thought possible, too- she'd seen the same results across the crew as everyone packed away the kind of food needed to sustain the amount of energy they were burning.

It took longer than she'd have liked for Kaneki to finish with the greenhorns, but eventually she managed to catch his eye.

"You need something?" the ghoul asked, rolling his shoulders- which, come to think of it, was the most stretching she'd ever seen him do. Probably his regeneration letting him avoid the consequences of not doing so.

"Want to spar?" she asked. "Can't exactly use my weapons on anyone else. 'Cept maybe Herman, his Iron Body is ridiculous."

"Sure you don't want to wait until we get to an island?" he asked, cocking his head slightly.

"No telling what's on the other end of Reverse Mountain," she said. "I need to get better at fighting with what I've got, and you're the only one I can practice on."

"So I'm a target dummy, heh. Fine. Oi! You lot! Clear the deck, last thing we need is stray bullets hitting you idjits!"

With groans and a few good-natured insults, the crew cleared off, most of them moving to the forecastle where they could watch. Figures. They'd love a good fight.

Kaneki pulled off his jacket and tossed it against the base of the mast. She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

"I get enough blood and holes in the damn thing from regular fighting," he said. "I'm not cleaning it up and sewing it back into working order over a spar."

"Fair," she said, taking one of his expressions. "You ready?"

Kaneki cracked his neck, his eyes snapping into their altered state. "One tail." The stated organ sprang into existence in an instant as Kaneki dropped into a crouch, lowering himself to all fours. Lauren reached behind her back for her newest weapon. "Defend yourself."

Kaneki was fast, much faster than her. But he was clearly going easy on her, and that made his forward lunge _just_ slow enough for her to pull the cut-down version of that fat bastard knight's bazooka around and slam it into his chest, stopping him in mid-air. Lauren grinned.

"Gunnery Special: _Wind Lance!"_

Kaneki's eyes bulged out as she pulled the trigger, and then he went flying off the ship and into the ocean.

There was dead silence for a moment as the crew gawked.

Lauren grinned. "Wonder if that makes me first mate?" she muttered, running a hand over the bazooka. She _really_ needed to find a way to thank the captain for making the weapon more portable...though he'd been more interested in the cables that had come with it- something about charging the Breath Dial with input from the Impact Dials…? Eh, wasn't her problem.

" _GROAAAR!"_

"Um...guys?" she heard Pravilno ask from the crowd. "I think a Sea King just ate our first mate."

" _GRO-ERRGUH!"_

"Oh, never mind, its head just exploded."

Lauren waited patiently, and sure enough, Kaneki, absolutely drenched with blood, climbed back over the rail a few moments later. He glared at her.

"That was one hell of a dirty trick." He grinned. "Good job. Think you can do it again?"

She grinned back, and levelled her bazooka. "Come and find out, bird boy."

* * *

"Okay, captain, I can handle a lot of things...but _why_ is Eustass Kid's severed arm floating in a giant glass tank?" I ask. I'm fairly certain at some point after Vinci guaranteed Kid would be trying to murder us I may have snapped even further. That, or my brain has simply given up trying to apply rational behavior to my captain. Either way, I'm asking more out of curiosity than anything else at this point.

Apparently Vinci had gotten Jack to shell out for improved lab equipment during our short stay at Hangman's Town. Now the lab has six glass tanks surrounded by machinery and a great deal of other devices that I have absolutely _no_ idea about the functioning of. Probably something sanity-breaking and/or abomination-producing.

"Well, Kaneki, it's simple. Kid has a Devil Fruit, yes?"

"Either that or a...magnetic personality."

"Never make a pun again, by the way. But yes, a Devil Fruit. I'm trying to see if I can locate the differences between a normal human and one who's eaten a Devil Fruit- DNA changes, physical alterations, _something._ "

"And you need it in a tank because…"

"Well, I don't want the thing to rot, now do I?" He tips his tricorn back slightly and gives me a look. "But why'd you come down here? Surely it wasn't to ask about my experiments."

I cross my arms. "Honestly I'm worried you're going to use the dogs as experimental test subjects. I _like_ dogs, captain, and so does most of the crew. 'Cept maybe Lauren, she's prickly enough to be a cat person."

"Dahahaha...really, that's what you're worried about? If I wanted animal testing, I'd have ordered Jack to buy some pigs. No, Kaneki, they're not test subjects."

I relax slightly.

"I mean, what I'm giving them isn't experimental in the slightest, so they aren't being used to test anything."

I glare at him, and Vinci chuckles. "Alright, alright, fine. They're getting the same stuff the rest of the crew is. Turns out they listen pretty well to orders even without formal training, too…"

"So what are they?"

"Morale boosters. Also, it amused me to bring them on board, so I did. That assuage your concerns?"

"Barely. Still worried about the oni."

"Ah." He sighs. "You mean the whole...pack-mentality thing they have with you."

I nod.

"Well, if anything, it provides valuable data about your people's natural state, I suppose…"

"This isn't a damn joke, Vinci."

"I know, I know, don't bite my head off...look. They haven't taken any further doses, right?"

"Those pills of yours count?"

"No, the concentration of your cell cultures in those is less than a thousandth what the concentration in the oni gas is."

"Then no, they haven't."

"Alright. Whatever happens to them after the next fight in which they do...I'll keep an eye on them, and see if they start turning into, well...more of you. It's not as though we lack for your kind of supplies, though."

"You'd let them turn themselves into monsters?"

Vinci frowns. "You think you're one?"

"Eat people. Nothing more to say about that. Less of a monster than others, maybe, but still a monster. But I didn't get a choice."

"And you…" Vinci stops, and sighs. "We're pirates, Kaneki. We'll kill people either way. _If_ there are more permanent effects than the ones they've already suffered, I'll try to reverse them. If I can't do that...would you honestly consider killing them, for taking the power they needed to protect their crew?"

I open my mouth. Stop. Close it.

"No," I say quietly. "Not in cold blood like that."

"There you have it. It's slim odds, Kaneki, remember that. Don't do something you'll regret, purely because you're afraid of what the future could hold. If you do...you're little better than the Marines."

There's a knock on the door. "Captain?" Eka calls. "Boss?"

"What?" we ask at the same time.

"We're coming up on the Mountain...Jack says there was something you wanted to do?"

Vinci grins.

* * *

He'd seen pictures, he'd read books about it.

It still didn't compare to the sheer _size_ of the mountain growing on the horizon, or the wall of rock extending on both sides.

 _Ends Justified_ was making a hell of a clip, faster and faster as the currents tugged at them and the Calm Belts loomed on either side. It took two men to hold the ship steady in the increasingly hostile currents, clutching at the wheel, but it mattered little.

"Here we are, men…" he called, looking over the crew as they all watched. "Right on the edge. Heading for the Line, just as I promised! Dahahahahaha...it's a hell of a sight, ain't it? Well, boys, I said I'd tell you the why of things, why I've taken you to this place...and I keep my promises."

He looked to the mountain. "I want to see what's on the other sign of that mountain. And so we're going to go there. We're going to sail the Line. And I _will_ become Pirate King! Not for power! Not for fame! But for the secrets of this world, the ones kept hidden from all of us!" He dropped his voice into a whisper, one pitched to carry to every ear. "A scientist makes the impossible reality. A researcher searches for that which nobody can understand. And a doctor...a doctor denies death, to the end! And that is what I shall do! That is my dream: I shall search out every secret and treasure of this world...and at the very end of it, I shall find a way to immortality for all mankind! What say you? Will you follow me, to a better future?"

" _AYE, CAPTAIN!"_

His grin widened fit to split his skull. "But I can't achieve my dream alone...nor can I expect you to give up your own to serve mine. So tell me, my officers: what do you desire? What are your dreams?"

There was silence for a moment. And then Kaneki stepped out of the crowd of crew.

"I want...well, it's simple. There was a kingdom in the New World, which my master hailed from. His councillors, seven of them, turned on him, and deposed him. I want them dead, and once that debt is paid...once that's paid, there's still greater monsters that only another monster can handle."

Herman stepped up to his side. "What I want? I want enemies to face, I want to prove my strength to the world!" he shouted. "I will prove myself as a warrior...and that is all I want," he said, more quietly.

Jack nodded as he joined the dog-man. "I want nothing for myself," the big man said. "But I want to be there. I want to see what you do, captain."

"I want to never be afraid," Lauren cried, joining the officers.

More and more of the crew joined in, cries for wealth and fame and adventure joining the tide, and Vinci raised his arms until at last the tide abated. He pointed his scythe at Reverse Mountain. "It's all on the other side," he said simply. "Let's go take it. FOR SCIENCE!"

And then the currents grabbed them, and there was no more time for speeches.


	6. Chapter 31

" _Bwoooo…"_

"Captain?" I ask faintly.

"Yes, Kaneki?"

"That is an extremely large whale."

"Yes it is."

"With a horrendously-drawn Jolly Roger on it."

"I noticed that as well."

We look at each other, and grin at the same time.

"I love this ocean," we announce simultaneously.

" _STOP ADMIRING THE BEASTY AND HELP GET US AWAY FROM ITS JAWS, DAMMIT!"_ Herman shouts from the quarterdeck.

 _BWOOOO!"_

" _SHUT THE HELL UP YOU OVERGROWN PILE OF BLUBBER!"_

Laboon's eye focuses on our ship for a moment.

"Herman, you fucking idiot," I say flatly.

" _BWOOOOOO!"_

"We're all gonna die!" Eka says with a laugh, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. The rest of the oni laugh with him as Laboon somehow _vanishes_ into the waters of the Twin Capes, revealing…

"That is a _very_ large shipwreck," I mutter, taking a cigarette from Eka.

"Herman! Bring us to the island! Looks like there's survivors," Vinci orders, shading his eyes.

"Aye, captain," Herman says, in a much more subdued tone of voice.

 _Ends Justified_ creeps towards the bulk of the wreck and the nearby lighthouse.

I light a cigarette, sit back, and try to let go of the massive adrenaline rush Reverse Mountain put me through. It's a pity- presumably people like Cross got to see the world laid out before them when they hit the summit...but I was too busy holding on to the rail and cursing every deity I could think of for putting me on that hell-mountain.

Wait a sec…

" _Bwooo…"_

"Easy, big fella," I mutter as Laboon's bulk begins to tower off our port side. "Not gonna give him any trouble, just want to help."

" _Bwoooo…"_

The whale lowers himself in the water, just enough for his eye to watch us. The crew seems to collectively shiver.

"Oh, come on," Jack says. "It's an Island Whale. They aren't hostile unless you start trouble with them. Smart buggers, too."

I blink at him. He shrugs. "I can have hobbies, too."

 _Ends Justified's_ keel grates on sand, and Vinci nods. "Look."

That's a lot of bodies. One's moving. The others aren't.

I recognize the moving one, bent over one of those still forms, and I nod to Vinci. "We going to help?"

"Of course. Jack."

"Aye?"

"Get the crew moving, check the ship over for any damage. Didn't much like how rough the way up was. Me and Kaneki will deal with this."

"Understood, captain."

We hit the sand, and approach Crocus, who seems more focused on his patient than us. The man's back is to us as he kneels in front of an unconscious or dead man, obscuring both his patient and his face from view...but not hiding that ridiculous flower-shaped hairdo.

"If you're here to fight, it will not go well for you," he growls, not looking up.

"Not our interest, old man," Vinci says. "I'm a doctor. Got supplies, too, if you need them."

There's a pause, and I see one of Crocus's hands vanish into the black bag laid next to him in the sand before pulling out a very large syringe. "Get over here, boy," he growls. "Need an extra pair of hands for this." Vinci nods to me and walks over, frowning as he does so. I don't draw any closer, instead looking back over the wreck and the bodies. The ship had been big- a _lot_ bigger than our own, some great bluff-bowed galleon...probably had been what killed it, running down Reverse Mountain at such a speed that the vessel couldn't take the strain.

The cigarette clouds the smell, but not _nearly_ enough.

"Please…"

I follow the sound, and wince as I come on someone who's still alive. And, judging from the size of the spar through his gut, beyond even Vinci's skill to heal. I kneel down beside the poor bastard, and unhook my canteen from my belt before using my coat to support the man's head. He looks like a classical pirate, big red coat and hat and all.

He coughs. "Water...please…"

I manage to trickle some into his mouth, and he smiles. "Was not...expecting this…" he wheezes. "Tell me...did we..?"

"Make it over the Red Line? You did. Paid a price for it."

"My crew…?"

"Dead, from the looks of it."

"And me dying...heh. It was...not to be, then." He stops, taking deep breaths. "I had...so much to do…what is your name?"

"Yoshimura Kaneki."

"Kaneki...I am Morgan Piers...would you do a dying man...one last kindness?"

"If need be."

"Make it quick."

I nod. "Morgan Piers...I give you mercy."

My tail flashes in the sunlight, and I close the man's eyes.

I suddenly feel a pressing need to be elsewhere.

* * *

"I will be honest," Vinci said as he clutched the mug of tea Crocus had offered. "I am amazed he's still alive."

"That one man...he's hanging on...and much tougher than the rest of that crew, rest their souls," Crocus said gravely. "Damned young fools." He gave Vinci a look over his glasses that nearly made him quail. "Quite like your own crew. Don't think I didn't notice your first mate's nature...or where your crew started putting the bodies. Is it only him?"

This old man knew what- how? Vinci nodded slowly.

"He sane?"  
"As much as our sort can be," Vinci said. "How did you know?"

"Isn't the first time I've seen his kind. Or fought them. Roger had a hand in their destruction, after all."

"Roger," he managed to squeak. "Gold Roger. You...you sailed with the Pirate King?"

Crocus nodded. "Had to leave lighthouse duty to another young fool while I did, but he...made refusing very difficult, in his own way." He sighed. "Normally I'd be winding you poor rookies up, but it seems in poor taste after, well…"

Vinci shrugged. "It's how it is. Least we saved one...though I don't like the look of him. Worse than the trauma of the wreck's happened to him."

Crocus glanced at the cot where they'd laid the poor bastard down after making sure that he wouldn't die right that second. "Agreed, though I'm not sure what sort of toxin was used on him."

"I have a few options, even if we don't know," Vinci offered.

Crocus's mouth thinned. "Derived from your first mate?"

"Not in quantities enough to matter," Vinci said.

"I don't like it...but I doubt he'll live without your intervention." Crocus nodded. "Do whatever it takes, brat."

Vinci grinned. "Ordering me around, now?"

"Bah, you know what I mean. Now go get whatever tools you need, I'll keep an eye on him."

Vinci got to his feet. "Sure thing, old man. And I'll be sure to ask about what you know right after."

"After One Piece?"

"After knowledge...and I may be wrong, but Roger didn't seem the sort to bury mere gold and jewels at the ends of the earth."

Crocus smiled. "You might be right in that, brat. You might be right, indeed."

* * *

First there was nothing, a sweet, numb embrace.

And then there was _pain_ , setting every single nerve and vein in his body on fire.

There was nothing again as his mind recoiled from that agony.

This cycle repeated several times. Until...

"Okay, try it again, this time with the _red_ syringe," a voice said, piercing the numbness in a way that for once _didn't_ bring the immeasurable agony everything had caused since he'd been poisoned.

The numbness vanished, but this time there was no pain. He felt...good. _Great_ , even.

He opened his eyes.

A man with black sclerae and red irises was looking at him.

He closed them again, took a few deep breaths, and reopened them.

Nope, still there. And now there was some guy who looked like he'd fallen onto several very sharp objects face-first.

Wasn't his life wonderful?

He swallowed, and coughed. "So...I'm alive after all," he muttered. "Could I...get some water?"

Scarface provided a canteen, which he took small sips from- wasn't his first time dealing with dehydration.

The scarred man smiled. "Welcome back to the land of the living. What's your name?"

"It's Gin."


	7. Chapter 32

" _As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair,  
To view the salt water and take the sea air,  
I heard an old fisherman singing a song,  
Won't you take ma away boys me time is not long,  
Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper,  
No more on the docks I'll be seen,  
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates,  
And I'll see you some day in Fiddler's Green."_

The music helps. Keeps me focused on playing my guitar and singing along, rather than on the fact that we've found _Gin_ , of all people. Keeps me focused away from what Crocus knows about me.

" _Now Fiddler's Green is a place I heard tell,  
Where the fishermen go (if they don't go to hell),  
Where skies are all clear and the dolphins do play,  
And the cold South Blue Islands are far, far away."_

Jack's found a few leaks and other problems below the waterline from our passage, so we've run _Ends Justified_ up on the beach to look him- yes, ships are usually female, but it doesn't seem to fit- over. A couple of the more architecturally-inclined of the crew are checking the seams, but the rest...well, a glad-to-be-alive celebration seems perfectly normal.

" _Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper,  
No more on the docks I'll be seen,  
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates,  
And I'll see you some day in Fiddler's Green."_

Vinci...well, he'd filled me in on what Crocus knew, before Gin had woken up. It's funny. I'd nearly forgotten the man existed...come to think of it, whatever happened to him in the story? He never reappeared after Krieg got his ass handed to him.

I'm just glad Crocus didn't press the issue, instead swimming out to where Laboon's been hanging around. Maybe my presence brings up some bad memories, or something.

" _When you get on the docks and the long trip is through,  
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too.  
When the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free,  
And there's bottles of rum growing from every damn tree._

Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper,  
No more on the docks I'll be seen,  
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates,  
And I'll see you some day in Fiddler's Green."

I should be asking Crocus for details. Not just...wherever I came from, but his own voyages. The things he's seen. I hope Vinci's already done that. Don't see him among the crew…

" _Now, I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me,  
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea,  
I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along,  
With the wind in the rigging to sing me a song_

Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper,  
No more on the docks I'll be seen,  
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates,  
And I'll see you some day in Fiddler's Green."

"Come on, Kaneki," one of the crew half-sobs. "Play something lighthearted!"

I smile and shrug, before nodding to the rest of the band and stepping aside. I've got questions to ask.

Even if I have a feeling I won't much like the answers.

* * *

"I used to belong to another crew," Gin explained. "Don Krieg's."

"Never heard of him," Vinci said. Gin chuckled.

"'Course not. He barely lasted minutes on the Line...and then when we fled back to the East Blue, he went up against some kid he _really_ shouldn't have. I…" He looked down at his hands, and sighed. "Krieg wanted to take over this floating restaurant, and the chef there...first person to show me real kindness in a long, long time. I couldn't kill him...but couldn't go against him, either." He shrugged. "Krieg got knocked out, me and the surviving crew headed off in a boat...and minute he woke up, he threw me off. Literally. Swam my way to the nearest island, refused to die. Ended up in Loguetown after a while...signed up with a crew that looked strong, and well…" He shook his head, then looked at Vinci. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For saving my life. But...what's the deal with your first mate?"  
Vinci shrugged. "Oh, nothing much. Just a obligate cannibal with enough self-hatred to power a small city provided you could build a dynamo to run off it."  
Gin's stare almost shifted the bags under his eyes, before the near-skeletal man shut his eyes and took several deep breaths. "Okay."  
"So, you going to join our crew?"  
Gin sputtered.  
"Give the man some time to mourn, captain," Kaneki's voice said from the door. Vinci glanced over. The ghoul seemed on edge, arms folded and fingers tapping rhythms on his elbows.

"You alright, Kaneki?"

The ghoul grimaced. "You mentioned that Crocus knew what I was...that Roger fought my kind. Trying to psych myself up to go talk to him about it."

Vinci looked at Gin and waggled his eyebrows in a way that meant 'see? Told you.'. "I'm pretty sure he won't stab you if you go up to that whale and try to talk to him," he said. "Go give it a shot. And if he does stab you…"

"Yeah, yeah, I can walk it off. Fine, then." He looked at Gin, and his eyes flicked to their altered state for a moment. "I mean it, captain. Let him come to terms before he chooses another crew."

The ghoul left.

Gin chuckled. "Melodramatic bastard, ain't he?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," Vinci said with a grin. "I think it comes with the immortality."

"Obligate means...he _has_ to eat people? Right?"  
"Working on that, but for the moment, yes. It's not as though we're short of corpses."

"My crew…?"

"Dead is dead." Vinci raised his hands at Gin's expression. "Easy, dahahaha...we buried them. Couldn't fit them in our holds at this point, and we've got more than enough to keep him going for a long, long while. We're pirates, and the dead are shells...but even the dead can get _some_ respect."

Gin narrowed his eyes. "Good," he finally said. "Didn't know them long, but they didn't deserve to be food." He stood. "What's the state of my ship?"

"Keel's snapped like a twig and a good chunk of the starboard side's missing. Aft end's gone, too."

Gin nodded. "Works for me. My cabin was on the port side."

"Going to collect your effects?"

"Something like that."

* * *

Crocus was old, but his Observation Haki was as sharp as ever. He knew that Kaneki was approaching long before the ghoul even reached Laboon, and so he sat himself up on one of the hatches he'd built into the immense whale and waited.  
He didn't have to wait long as the ghoul launched himself out of the water and began to climb using his hands and feet. Odd. He'd expected him to use his tails, despite the risk of cutting Laboon.

Maybe that was why he wasn't, but personally Crocus doubted it. He'd seen, fought, and nearly been killed by the brat's kind before, and care for others outside their own kind was...rare. And those few times more like someone with a favorite pet than anything else.

He waited, and after several minutes, Kaneki pulled himself over the horizon of Laboon's body. The ghoul looked around, and then approached slowly.

Crocus sighed. "What do you want?"

"Answers. I...hell, old man, I didn't even know where I came from, and according to Vinci you fought and killed my entire race. Got no grudge against you for that, mind. Anyone stupid enough to piss off a D...yeah, not the smartest move."

He _knew._ "You know Roger's actual name," he said flatly. "How?"

The ghoul shrugged. "Make a trade? Answer for answer?"

Crocus kept silent for several seconds, watching the ghoul slowly tense as Crocus stared...and stared...and _stared_ …

The ghoul laughed. "I like your sense of humor, old man. Fine, then, I'll answer first. I know his name the same way I know that a boy in a straw hat on a ram-headed caravel painted that Jolly Roger on your compensating-for-something-sized whale. I read it."

Interesting. And needing a great deal of elaboration, but that would come. Crocus sighed. "If I answer yours, you'll tell me more?" he asked flatly.

"That's the plan."

"Fine. We were on the Grand Line when we ran into one of your kind. Bastard had razed an island to the ground, and while he could pass for human, just like you...well, most of his underlings were out of their minds. Was a nasty fight, and he ran for it. Roger...well, he wasn't exactly happy, and we tracked him down, found a laboratory where he was cloning more of your kind, and tore the place apart. Never did find out where he came from, anything like research notes burned with the labs...but the leader of that pack did mention a 'Father' of some kind. We never found any others, though."

Kaneki sighed. "Hell. Alright, that makes sense. Vinci did figure I was a shitty experiment of some kind…" He shrugged. "Fair's fair. But I doubt you're going to believe me when I explain."

"I sailed in the New World, boy. There is very little I will not believe. Tell me."

Kaneki told him.

Crocus listened. Then he began to laugh.


	8. Chapter 33

" _BWWWOOOOOOOOO!"_

Vinci gaped. What the _hell_ was that whale doing? Dancing? And...that was definitely a smile.

He grinned as the crew panicked, screaming about the 'angry' whale, and laughed. Kaneki clearly was doing _something_ right.

Gin whistled. "Your first mate?" he asked.

Vinci nodded.

"Hm. Let's hope the whale's dancing doesn't wash away what's left of my ship." He walked away.

Vinci watched as Laboon settled into the water, slightly less deafening in his bellowing. A speck of red detached itself from the massive bulk of the whale and fell into the water, before rocketing towards the shore. Kaneki hit the beach at a fair clip- and barely avoided one of the bonfires the crew had set in the process, before tripping over a chunk of driftwood and faceplanting into the sand at Vinci's feet.

"I'm okay!" he declared, voice slightly muffled.

Vinci chuckled, and hauled the ghoul to his feet. "What'd you say to the beast?"

Kaneki smiled. Not the usual all-too-joyful fighting grin...something smaller, and more peaceful. "Told him about someone he misses dearly," he said. "Also...got a bit off my shoulders, metaphorically speaking."

"Going to tell me about it?"

"What do you think?"

"Given your tendency to bottle everything up and never talk to people, likely no," Vinci quipped.

Kaneki laughed. "Fine, I deserve that. Still not going to tell you, though…"

"That's just unfair," Vinci complained, which just made Kaneki laugh harder.

"H-hey," the ghoul said, containing his amusement. "Where'd Gin go off to?"

"Said he was going to collect his stuff from the ship."

"Hm." Kaneki sniffed at the air. "Got to wonder how he's still alive. Poison, shipwrecks, starvation…"

"People are tougher than you might give credit," Vinci said with a smile. "Just because you keep getting injured doesn't mean it happens to everyone else."

"Heh. Still thinking on getting him on the crew?"

"Unless he wants to take over from the old man in managing the lighthouses or something, definitely."

"Why, though?"

"Same reason I let the Bertram girl on. Want to see what he becomes."

"That why you asked me to join?"

"Oh, no. You're already interesting."

"Huh." Kaneki stood there in silence, watching the still on-going celebrations. "We...do have a Log Pose, right?" he eventually asked. "Can't remember if you got Jack to buy one."

"Three, actually," Vinci said, pulling one from one of his coat pockets. "Only way to navigate that doesn't involve the stars, I've got no intention of being without one."

"Good. Got any idea where to go?"

Vinci grinned. "Not a clue. Never found any maps. You?"

"Only thing I have is an Eternal Pose to my master's old kingdom," Kaneki said. "I know there's seven possible routes...and one is apparently an early dead-end, but that's it."

"Well, best pick one at random when we're ready to go, then," Vinci said lightly. "Hopefully it'll be somewhere we can pick up work...or loot, if we're desperate."

"Raiding...not sure I like that, captain," Kaneki said. "I know we're pirates, but do we really…"

Vinci shrugged. "People'll fall in line. Won't kill unless we have to."

Kaneki sighed. "Fair enough, captain. Maybe we'll get lucky and some rich asshole on the next island will pay you to save him from a life-threatening illness."

"It'd have to be an exorbitant amount. And honestly? Who'd charge that much?"

* * *

Two islands down the Grand Line, a certain mountain witch sneezed.

* * *

"Eh, fine. We'll figure something out, anyway," Kaneki said. He whistled, and one of the dogs- Kant, Vinci recalled- trotted over.

"Meow."

Right...he still had _no_ idea why it did that.

"I'm gonna check out the lighthouse," Kaneki said. "Yell if Gin decides to do something stupid."

"Why do you think he will?"

Kaneki shrugged. "Until proven otherwise, I will assume people will make the dumbest possible decision provided it makes things more dramatic."

"And your proof…"

"Look in a mirror, captain. Come on, Kant."

* * *

Morning dawns clear and surprisingly cold, and with Kant trying to nuzzle me awake.

"Gerroff, dog," I mutter, shoving the Saint Bernard away as I sit up on the edge of my cot. Feh. Need to stop drinking coffee late, it's fucking with my ability to wake up…

I crack my knuckles, pull on fresh clothes, and head out of my cabin and onto the deck.

It's...silent.

There's no Laboon offshore. Actually, there's no shore at all, just water all around.

Nobody on deck. Kant's gone. Even the waves...are...still…

"This is a dream, isn't it?" I ask out loud. "Joy. So, what's going to happen? Fighting my own subconscious or some bullshit?"

" _No, nothing so simple,"_ an echoing voice says.

I turn, and sigh. "Let me guess. ROB. And taking the appearance of Truth? Really?"

The pure white figure shrugs, smile never vanishing. " _It seemed fitting."_

"So you can talk to me. Why here, why now?"

" _Far easier to do it on the Grand Line than anywhere else...I'm sure you understand why."_

"Hmph. Fine. What's your game, Bob? Why turn me into...this? Leave me stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere?"

" _Do I need a reason? Perhaps it was simple amusement."_

I feel a vein throb in my forehead. "What. Do. You. Want."

" _What I want, little wyrm, is simple. I want change...and your course is already set to cause a great deal of it…"_

"Then why the hell did you start doing this? I'm already doing what you want!"

" _The old man. You haven't told your companions the truth, and yet you told him everything. It is...interesting."_

I chuckle. "So you aren't omniscient after- grhk!" I claw at my throat as pressure cuts off my supply of air.

" _I would suggest you keep a more civil tongue in your head,"_ ROB says flatly. " _The old man._ _ **Why**_ _."_

The pressure vanishes, and I drop to my knees, breathing heavily. "Because he'd understand," I rasp. "Because I needed to tell _someone_ , actually use the knowledge that's left in my head for something _useful_. Because my crew hasn't seen the Grand Line. Not yet. Once they have, maybe I'll be able to tell them."

" _Hmph. An acceptable answer. I expect a great deal from you, wyrm. You know that."_ In an instant, he's in front of me, and his _hand's in my chest-_

" _I will not allow you to forget it."_

I wake up with the smell of sizzling flesh filling my nostrils, and someone hammering on the door.

"I'm up, give me a second!" I shout, getting to my feet and ignoring the rapidly fading pain that's covering my torso. What the hell had it-

I catch sight of my torso in the small mirror that's in my cabin, and gape.

What the _fuck_ did the bastard brand me with? Four circles, arranged in a column, increasing in size until they hit this weird horseshoe-shaped thing at the bottom. The highest and smallest touches the bottom of my throat while the roots at the bottom of the horseshoe trail off to the sides of my ribcage.

The hammering increases as I walk over to the door and open it the slightest amount. "What the fuck do you want?" I growl at Pravilno, who takes a sharp step back, sweatdropping.

"Sorry, but the captain needs you," he says sheepishly.

"What. For."

"He didn't say. Was talking to that Gin guy beforehand."

I drag a hand over my face. "Alright. Fine. I'll get over there."

Pravilno nods. Then his eyes drop to- oh for fuck's sake.

"So, uh, you sleep in the-"

" _Leave."_

He vanishes, and I slam the door shut.

Black turtleneck sweater. And _pants._

Alright. Let's see what the fuck is going on with Gin.


	9. Chapter 34

My hands very pointedly _do not_ shake as I pour myself a mug of coffee and stalk over to where Gin, Vinci, and Jack are waiting. "What the hell is worth waking me up so early about?" I snarl.

"It's ten o'clock."

" _I stand by my point."_

"Dahahaha...sorry, Gin, our first mate is a bit grumpy without his coffee."

I'm more grumpy about the still-aching brand the bastard responsible for me being a monster had put on me, but I hold my tongue and drink my coffee.

"To answer your question, Gin wants to fight you."

I nearly choke on my coffee. At least I don't give Vinci the satisfaction of a spit-take. Instead, I cough heavily for nearly a minute, practically bending double as my windpipe objects to the presence of near-boiling coffee.

"F-fight? Grk...why the hell do you want to fight me?" I snarl at Gin, who regards me flatly. "I do something to piss you off?"

"No," Gin says, still staring with admittedly creepy eyes.

"Then why?"

He sighs. "I served one weak captain, and he failed on the line. Found a stronger captain, but his crew and ship weren't strong enough. I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen if I join _your_ crew."

Deep breaths, Kaneki.

"Fine. You want to see how tough I am, whatever. How're we going to do this?"

"I'll call up the crew," Jack rumbles. "You want to take our mettle, Devil Man, but you'll also have to prove yourself to them. Even the greenhorns."

I nod. "Reminds me. How long're we going to wait?"

"Going to take a week to make sure everything's proper and shipshape, and they'll be trained up," Jack answers. He eyes Gin. "It'll help bring you up to proper fighting shape, too," he says neutrally.

Gin bristles. "I'm fine."

"Lack of muscle mass and your facial features suggest otherwise," Vinci says cheerily. "I recommend a high-nutrient diet. You still aren't fully recovered."

"I'll manage."

"Once you join my crew, yes, yes you will," Vinci rebuts with a grin.

Gin shivers.

* * *

Well, Lauren reflected, the two of them had something in common- they both looked like shit.

She'd managed to push her way to the front of the crowd via the judicious application of some elbows and being thinner than most of the pirates, giving her a good view of the impromptu ring that'd been set up for Kaneki and Gin's fight.

Kaneki looked frustrated and tired, in a black turtleneck and khaki pants, the bags under his eyes very prominent. Gin, on the other hand, looked as skeletal as ever. Most people would figure that meant both of them were easy marks. But she'd seen Kaneki spar...and while she had no idea what Gin was capable of, he acted confident enough, carrying his cannonball-tipped tonfas with ease.

This was going to be...interesting.

The two of them eyed each other from their sides of the ring. Kaneki held himself loosely- which he could afford to, given his regeneration- while Gin was tense, one of his tonfas slowly twitching back and forth as he waited.

"Well? Get on with it!" Vinci yelled.

Gin cocked one arm back, tonfa starting to spin, blurring into motion.

Kaneki didn't move.

Gin launched himself forward, swinging his tonfa.

Kaneki raised an arm, muscles tensing in a way Lauren recognized as him using Iron Body.

Gin's tonfa slammed into that iron-hard defense- and Kaneki's arm broke like a dry twig as the cannonball kept going, smashing into the first mate's jaw. Kaneki went flying back as Gin's other tonfa slammed into his ribs with bone-breaking force, knocking him to the ground.

Lauren winced. Regeneration or not, that _had_ to hurt.

"Shit, did I…?" she heard Gin mutter.

A ripple of laughter ran through the crew, and the half-starved man looked up. "What's so funny?"

Kaneki sat up, grabbed his broken arm, and shoved it into a proper position with a _crack_ , before grinning. Even from where Lauren was standing she could see his eyes turn black and red as the man stood up. "You're tougher than I thought," the ghoul said.

Was it her eyes playing tricks, or did his teeth look like fangs?

"So're you," Gin allowed, tonfa starting to spin again as he took a wary step back.

"Was gonna go slow, see how much you could take...but don't particularly feel like taking that sort of beating. One tail, two tail, three tail, _four."_ The four blood-colored tails twitched lazily in the air as Kaneki crouched. "Devil or ghoul, let's see which is stronger," he growled.

"Fine by me," Gin said, starting to smile.

" _Multiple Scaled Hammers!"_

Gin didn't say a word, just swinging his tonfas to meet the striking tails. The impact sent the skeletal man sliding back, and sent sparks flying from the hafts of his weapons, but didn't seem to faze him. With a grunt, he pushed the tails away.

At which point Kaneki Shaved forwards and kicked him in the balls.

Gin went white, but remained standing. So Kaneki hit him again, which did the trick.

Lauren wasn't a guy, but she winced anyway.

* * *

Gin fingered his new clothes thoughtfully. Kreig and Morgan hadn't cared enough to institute any kind of uniform, allowing people to wear whatever they liked. These guys...their symbol was everywhere, even tattooed on their flesh in the case of the bosun. And now he was part of that.

He wasn't particularly sad to see his old jacket go. It'd been near to falling apart, anyway. And this new one…

Someone had noticed the serpents on his old jacket, and embroidered a similar set into the sleeves of his new uniform, the bright scarlet snakes coiling upwards from the wrists to sit their heads at his shoulders. The jacket itself was lined with fur that he couldn't identify- whatever it was, it was pure white and very, very comfortable. It poked past the cuffs and the edges of the attached hood. The headband they'd given him was the only thing with the Nightmare symbol, a patch bearing it grinning proudly right in the middle.

"So, what do you think?" the Nightmare tailor asked.

Gin nodded. "I like it."

"Good. Go and talk to the bosun, he said he wanted to see you."

Yeah, that figured. The captain might've been more than willing to bring him on, but the bosun...well, the big man seemed more of a realist than his commander. Another strange thing. Krieg would never have tolerated someone else having a more commanding position in his crew- anyone who looked to be angling for any kind of power over the men had been...dealt with. Often by Gin himself. Vinci, on the other hand, didn't seem to particularly care, so long as his own orders were followed without question. And they _would_ be, he could tell.

The bosun's cabin door was open, and the mutton-chopped man nodded as soon as Gin appeared in his doorway. "Come in, and shut the door behind you."

Gin did so.

"Sit down."

He did.

Rubeus Jack regarded him. "I managed to snag a News Coo subscription before we headed for the Line," he said. "Caught up on some back issues. You're worth a great deal, for an East Blue native. And you've done some fairly horrific things."

Gin tensed, and Jack waved a hand.

"We have a cannibal for a first mate, we're not going to judge you. Just trying to figure out why. Captain won't care, and like as not Kaneki won't either...but I need to know how reliable you are, Devil-Man."

Gin grit his teeth. "I've done what I've been ordered to. Krieg...I respected his strength, and so I followed his orders. No matter what. But I'm not some sick bastard who murders for fun. You give me an order, I'll follow it the best I can."

Jack nodded slowly. "Well, then…" He rose, and extended a massive hand. "Welcome to the Nightmare Pirates, Devil-Man. I think you'll fit right in."


	10. Chapter 35

To guest reviewer:

This chapter should answer your questions rather thoroughly.

* * *

Vinci was meditating.

Normally he wouldn't hold with such spiritual claptrap, but he wasn't after enlightenment or inner peace. Peace meant stagnation and ossification, acceptance of mortality, and that was something he could not allow.

No, he was meditating because it was the best way to clear his head enough for him to work on himself.

The King's Heart was a chimera, half his parent's theoretical scribblings and half his own genius and- he could admit it- madness. And it _grew_ , that was the important thing, a Hegelian response to the world, constantly altering itself and through it him, through him the environment, and the alterations of the environment causing it to alter itself once more, starting the whole cycle over. It responded to his will and need...and by now it had spread itself far enough he could start on some more...esoteric modifications. All he had to do was focus.

Altering his bones had already been easy. It had actually come as something of a surprise, but the process he'd intended, plating them in a layer of carbon compounds, had already been started- and by what he recognized as his own C-cells, no less. Still, it'd been extremely simple to speed the process up by having the elements of the King's Heart nearby start copying more of the cells. They'd also increase his physical strength, so it killed two birds with one stone.

Secondary heart was already engineered in, obviously, and the lungs as they were were efficient enough. Just a slight tweak to their metabolic rate needed. Adding more would be useless for the moment- he had no space for it anyway unless he wanted to crack open his torso.

That would have to wait for a fully-equipped surgery, a lot more training for the medics, and plenty of raw material. That would be a while, probably if or when they got a new ship.

Outside the peace of his meditation, he heard timbers creak slightly.

Hmph.

Spine was easy enough to reconfigure, replacing the easily-damaged arrangement of vertebrae and discs with a complex assemblage of interlocking bone, a perfect protection with the increased strength. Internal organs were surrounded by a seed network that would eventually extend sheaths of honeycombed carbon around them. Slight alterations to stomach acids and digestive system, increasing breakdown of otherwise inedible components and allowing natural production of vitamin C. Increasing myelination of nerves- another thing the C-cells were already doing that he increased the rate of.

And his eyes. Once Kaneki's, but now his...he'd leave them be for now, the existing enhancements were enough.

The Heart thumped, his guts churned, and as everything settled in, Vinci let out a slow breath, letting the emptiness fade away and be replaced by the familiar walls of his lab. He uncrossed his legs, and stepped out of his chair, testing his movements. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he hadn't spent long fixing himself up. Good to know. He had-

Someone knocked on the door to the lab.

-ah, right on time, then. "Come in!"

Lauren entered extremely cautiously, eyes darting around as she took in the various experiments.

Vinci just grinned. "You know why I asked to see you?"

"No, actually," she replied, a bit shakily.

"Right. I want to put you in charge of the armory."

"What."

"You. In charge of our guns. Shipboard and personal. Care, maintenance, and instructing the rest of the crew."

"B-b-but _why?!_ I-"

"I've seen you practicing, and spoken with others of the crew. Pravilno is likely the most skilled with firearms among the crew. And you make him look like a septuagenarian with palsy and a heroin habit. And then there's the modifications you've been making after-hours to the forward armament." He chuckled at her shocked expression. "You thought I wouldn't notice our cannons suddenly becoming breech-loading? Or the concurrent vanishing of spare parts from our holds?" Well, Jack had been the one to notice, but that was beside the point. "Whether you admit it or not, you seem to be a prodigy with all things related to gunpowder. So, your promotion."

"I...don't know what to say, captain. What exactly would I have to do?"

"Any modifications or upgrades to our weapons, it's your purview. Talk with Jack to keep yourself supplied. Make sure you're ready for combat, anyone who needs help with their own firearms skills, it's your job to make sure they're at least competent. Same with how Herman is starting to teach swordwork-" -and wasn't that a sight, the burly wolfman having finally gotten fed up with the 'incompetent fucking flailing' of his fellow crewmates- "-and with how I've been teaching medical care and handing out enhancements."

"Huh." She smiled thinly. "I've been starting to see diminishing returns in my training. Looks like I'll have the time to bring the others up to speed, then."

"Good way to think of it, Gunner," Vinci said with a widening grin.

* * *

"I would've expected you to charge forward blindly," Crocus comments mildly. "Most of the ones who want to be Pirate King tend to do that."

Vinci sighs. "Knowledge is power. And while the journey would likely be interesting, I'd rather not have it end early because I ran into a dead end on the Line that I could've avoided by asking for help."

Crocus's eyes flick to me for the barest instant before he nods. "Long as you don't ask me about Raftel or how to get there…"

"It would diminish the achievement if I did," Vinci replies smoothly. "Raftel, I want to reach on my own terms." He pulls a Log Pose from his pocket. "But as for the rest…"

"Safest anchorage is probably Turtle's Bay. Fifth island out of the seven routes. A haven for pirates and scoundrels of all sorts...and typically the worst of the lot as well," he adds, giving me another look. "You'll have little enough trouble, I suppose." He pauses, then walks over to a weathered chest in the corner of the room and pries it open with a grunt. He pulls out a thick parcel wrapped in canvas, and holds it out to Vinci. "Here. You'll need this. It's some of my medical notes on what you can find in the Grand Line."

Vinci blinked. "And what did I do to-"

"You didn't. Your first mate did. Now take the damn thing."

Vinci does so. "Guess whatever he told you and the whale of yours was really important, dahaha…"

"You have no idea, kid," Crocus says with a slight smile. "No get going. Remember- _fifth_ island. You get lost, it's not my fault."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. Anything else we should worry about?"

"A half dozen or so islands down that route, you'll run into a fairly gloomy one covered in ruins and populated by militant apes."

Oh fuck no…

"The greatest swordsman in the world, Dracule Mihawk, calls it home. Last I heard the brat spent most of his time at sea, but if he's in residence...don't even _think_ about fighting him."

I nod. "It wouldn't go well."

"How poorly?" Vinci asks sharply.

I shrug. "Ask Gin. He'll tell you."

Vinci nods, and heads for the door, with me following him. "Thanks for the advice, old man. You and the whale take care, now…" He stops dead, and I barely avoid running into him as he turns back around. "Actually, wait, one more question- why does your whale have a poorly drawn skull on it?"

Crocus grunts. "Some brat in a straw hat drew it. What's it to you?"

"Just curious."


	11. Chapter 36

_Thoom._

"Vinci," I say flatly as the door to the lab- the door made of six inches of solid steel- visibly shudders. "What the _fuck_ is in there?"

The captain opens his mouth. Closes it. "I...may have started running out of material to sample from Eustass Kid's arm and injected it with a regenerative compound so it would grow back more," he says smoothly. "Well, at least the countermeasures worked. Wonder what it grew?"

"If it's a perfect clone of Kid or some other bullshit, I'm punting you off this ship," I warn. "One tail, two tail, three tail-"

 _Thoom._

"- _four._ " I pull my mask on, and crack my neck as the door shudders again.

There's a moment of silence, and I practically feel the Oni behind me tense, the smell of sweat and adrenaline rank in the close confines of the ship.

"One week," I mutter. "Can we have _one week_ on this ocean where things are normal?"

"Judging from the weather we went through on day one, no," Vinci replies calmly.

* * *

"I! HATE! THIS! OCEAN!" I scream through the massive hailstorm that had just replaced the near-boiling temperatures from earlier, using my tails to shield myself from the worst of it as I heaved on a line that normally would take a dozen of the crew to haul.

" _Iceburgs to port!"_ Herman shouts.

"On it!" Lauren answers. " _Gunnery Special: Detonations!"_

 _Ends Justified_ groans as Herman throws it through another wild swerve, the waves starting to grow even more horrendously huge. I spare one of my tails to grab a crewman who apparently _didn't get the fucking message_ about safety lines and keep him from tumbling overboard.

" _HOLY SHIT THAT'S A VERY BIG WAVE!"_ one of the crew yells. I spare a moment to glance forward as the hail turns into ice-cold rain, and feel the bottom drop out of my stomach at the sight of a _wall_ of water heading right for us.

"We're gonna diiiiieeee," someone else sobs.

" _STOW THAT TALK MAGGOT, WE DON'T PAY YOU TO WHINE!"_ Jack shouts. " _KANEKI, HERMAN, DEAL WITH THAT OVERGROWN RIPPLE!"_

I plunk the crewman I've been holding onto the deck and yank the rope into his hands. "You. Hold this." Then I run across the deck to the foredeck, joining Herman. "Shouldn't you be holding onto the ship's wheel?" I ask.

"Shut the fuck up and do the thing," Herman grunts, drawing Amakatta.

"Right. _One tail, two tail, three tail, four...BREATH OF THE DRAGON!"_

" _Shepherd's Style...WHITE FANG!"_

It is impressive what you can do with knowledge of Tempest Kick and the strength to apply it to your own slashing techniques.

Unfortunately, that bitch Mother Nature doesn't give a damn about impressive, and our combined slashes are more a slight denting of the sea than a parting of it.

"This ocean can bite my-"

 _WHOOM._

* * *

We all take a moment to shudder at the shared memories. It was a wonder nobody died. As it was a fifth of the crew were still nursing injuries, and we'd had to rig up a new mizzen mast after one of the larger waves had snapped it clean off.

Then another _thoom_ grabs our attention again as the door visibly deforms.

Is that...a face?

"It's headbutting the door, isn't it," Eka mutters, lowering his dao slightly.

"Well, at least by the time it breaks free it'll probably be concussed," Percy adds, tapping his brass knuckles against each other.

 _Thoom._

"Maybe if we're lucky, it'll be unconscious," Tina adds cheerily, shouldering her spear.

 _Thoom._

"Probably not," I say with a shrug. "You honestly think our luck is that-"

"GRAAAAAAH!"

I'm yanked forward at the waist as the door crumples inwards, and the rest of the Oni are dragged after me!

"Of _fucking_ course he has Kid's magnetic powers," I grumble as my tails snatch them out of the air, letting their weapons continue to hurl themselves towards the hole where the door used to be. I yank my trench spike out of my belt and let it join them, and the pull on me decreases sharply.

Vinci isn't affected at all, the prick.

"RAAAAH!"

Finally I get a glimpse of the fucker as the metal slams into the ground, revealing an emaciated and _far too naked_ humanoid form. It leaps forwards- and immediately one of my tails smashes it into the deck, pinning it there.

"Don't kill it!" Vinci shouts.

"Don't- captain, are you nuts?" Dui asks, picking himself up off the floor.

The cloned thing keeps struggling, trying to break free of my tail, but doesn't seem to have the presence of mind to use its magnetic abilities again. Most of it is thankfully obscured by the tail wrapped around it, only its bald head visible. It snarls at me- and I see its eyes.

Black sclerae. Red irises. Just like mine.

"Vinci what the _fuck_."

Our captain walks up behind me and peers at the clone. "Well, that _is_ surprising. I suppose, given the relative concentration of regenerative components as compared to the Oni gas or other derivatives...it may have rebuilt itself using ghoulish nature as a base rather than human. I'll have to compare it to the original arm to make sure." He grins. "Congratulations, we made another human. We're-"

"No," I say flatly. "Do _not_ go there."

"Grrruh," the clone supplies.

"And you," I say, wrapping the thing in my tail and pulling it closer. "How smart are you?" I growl, staring it in the eyes. It glares back, and I feel it tense...and then it looks away and goes limp.

It smells afraid.

I drop it to the floor. "Smart enough," I say simply, before looking at Vinci. "I'm going to blame you for this," I say simply. "But fine, I won't kill it. So what do we do with it?"

"Grrh."

"Hush, you."

"Well, clearly it'd be a waste to kill it. And we could always use more heavy hitters."

I stare at him. The clone reaches up and starts trying to gnaw on one of my tails. I pull the appendage out of reach quickly. "You're joking."

"Feed him, see if he acts less like a feral cat, and we'll see."

I take a deep breath. "Captain, this is clearly a terrible idea."

Vinci shrugs. "If he doesn't learn, we can find out if Devil Fruit characteristics transfer via cannibalism. But it's more pragmatic to not waste resources. You _can_ control him, right?"

I glare at the clone, who shuffles back, back hitting the exterior wall of the lab. I sniff the air. It's...strange. A more clear emotional factor than I've gotten from anyone else, even the Oni. Fear, respect...submission? Hmm. "He'll follow me, I think," I say slowly. "Not control. More a pack mentality."

"Close enough. We'll see how it goes. Think he'll take a bite out of me if I approach?"

I shrug, and take a step back. The Oni do so as well. The clone doesn't move, but flinches as Vinci crouches in front of it.

"Easy now," the captain says soothingly. "Not sure what's going on in that head of yours, but we're not going to hurt you unless you hurt us."

It bares its teeth at him, but stops the moment I glare at it. Vinci watches the clone for several seconds, then nods. "We're keeping him."

"You do realize we're going to have to teach him how to actually understand human speech? And clothes? And basic functions in general?" I ask flatly.

Vinci nods. "It will be an interesting case study in learning methods," he says brightly. "Besides, smile! Being a parent is a beautiful thi-"

* * *

Jack looked up briefly as Vinci burst out of and through the deck, ascribed a short arc, and fell into the ocean.

Shit. He'd have to fix that.


	12. Chapter 37

"You know, I thought you'd be angrier about this," Vinci says absent-mindedly as the clone tugs experimentally at the shirt and pants we've given it. Honestly, I'm slightly surprised it could even put them on properly, but it only took a few seconds to figure it out. "Given the whole 'the world doesn't need more of me' thing you had going when I created the Oni compound."

"Were you _intending_ to make a ghoul?" I ask flatly.

Vinci shrugs. "I intended to grow some additional samples...honestly, the amount of your cell cultures I added shouldn't have caused a full-on regeneration. It's intriguing. So, no."

"And that's why I haven't done anything."

"You _threw me off the ship._ I'm still pulling splinters out of my clothes!"

"Were you actually hurt?"

"...no."

"There you have it, Captain." I look at the clone as it starts gnawing on some of the long salt pork we've laid out for it. "You have a name in mind or are we just going to call him 'the clone'?"

"Well, he's Subject C...figured just calling him C for now would work."

"C?"

"You're A, since you're the first I've worked on. I'm B, because of the King's Heart. So he's C."

"The Oni don't count?"

"A-1 through A-6."

"Hmph. Fine, keep your weird classification system. Oi, you!"

The clone looks up.

"You're C now."

The clone nods. Wait.

"Can you...understand me?"

A shrug. The clone- C- goes back to eating. He already looks less emaciated, which is _tremendously_ creepy, but not all that unexpected. Regeneration and all that…

"No seriously how the _fuck_ do you know English already?" I ask C. "It's been…"

"Two hours," Vinci supplies. "Interesting. Subconscious knowledge? Another point to the theory that you're a super-soldier experiment," he muses. "You'd want your cloned soldiers to learn quickly…"

I shiver. "Please stop trying to give me an existential crisis, Captain."

"Dahahaha...alright. But hey, C, you understand what I'm saying?"

C looks up from the hunk of preserved meat and nods again.

"How about talking?"

There's a long moment of silence as C frowns intently. Then he opens his mouth.

" _I am the very model of a modern cruel experiment,_

 _I've a bent of personality, an evil temperament_

 _I'm a fighter through and through, and it's right down to my firmament,_

 _From cranium to phalanxes, a hunting establishment  
I'm very well acquainted too with matters of concealment,_

 _I understand disguises, both innate and from enhancement  
About my cannibalism I'm teeming with a lot o' news-  
With many cheerful facts about the taste of human thews."_

He grins as Vinci's jaw drops. "I...learn a great deal from listening." He taps his ear. "And hear entire ship."

I cock my head. "Huh. Well, that simplifies things. Not sure _how_ that works, but okay."

"Neuroplasticity, probably. Also explains why you haven't memorized everything you've overheard as well, if it's only present early on," Vinci muses. He looks at C. "Now I have to wonder, what about your powers-"

Someone hammers on the door to the cabin, and we both look up.

"What?" Vinci asks.

"There's a ship approaching, captain," Pravilno calls out. "They're armed, they're flying a black flag, and they aren't stopping."

Vinci grins, and looks at C. "Well, it appears we're going to get some combat experience for you early."

The clone matches him grin for grin.

* * *

"There's at least a hundred men there," Vinci mused, spyglass to his eye. "Don't recognize the symbol on their flag...aaaaand they're rolling out a large deck gun. Lauren, educate them?"

She nodded, and pulled her heavy rifle from her back, extending the stock out to its full length as she went prone on the quarterdeck. The scope brought things into sharp clarity, the distant bulk of the ship and the long-ranged deck guns being run out seemingly close enough to touch. That was a _very_ large set of guns...and a great deal of gunpowder barrels sitting open next to them.

"Conditions: mild surf, north-north-east wind eight point five knots, range, two thousand, three hundred, seventy-eight feet. Targets: six men, heavy cannon." She raised the crosshairs, centering the distance mark on the man holding the gunner's match, and grinned.

" _Gunnery Special: Silent Requiem."_

The rifle bucked against her shoulder, the smell of sulfur wiping out everything else, and she watched through the scope.

And a one and-

The man with the match's head exploded, and his body fell backwards- dumping the burning match into one of the barrels of gunpowder.

The explosion made _Ends Justified_ shudder, and as she stood back up she saw the much larger vessel's front mast slowly collapse, pulling rigging with it and causing the enemy ship to practically grind to a halt as pandemonium reigned on the half-destroyed deck.

"So much for pirates being better on the Grand Line," the captain mused. "Herman! Take us in. We could use whatever we can plunder from their holds."

"Aye, captain!"

There was a familiar ripping noise as Kaneki's tails burst free, the ghoul crouching slightly as he grinned. Beside him, his pack of Oni readied their weapons- and that bald-ass clone Vinci had apparently made (word travelled fast, more so when one had to haul their captain out of the ocean) cracked his knuckles, matching Kaneki's smile tooth for tooth. She huffed, slung her rifle on her back again, and pulled her carbines out of their holsters. Combat. Actual, no-holds-barred, combat. Her palms itched, and she took a deep breath as _Ends_ tacked against the wind and drew closer and closer to the crippled vessel.

It wasn't quite the prospect of the fight ahead that worried her. It was that the thought of it felt...comforting. That a battle of kill or be killed was a _soothing_ thought wasn't what she'd expected to ever think.

The crew began to crowd against the rails, clutching weapons and grappling hooks. She saw Herman and Jack prowl off of the quarterdeck, sword and hammer in hand.

 _Ends Justified_ 's guns crashed, a fast _boom-boom-boom_ as the broadside approximated a ragged volley, one that blew more holes into the front of the enemy vessel, tearing open gunports and the men behind them.

Five...four...three...two…

They roared again, far faster than a muzzle-loader could accomplish, and she smiled. Her work was paying off.

This time the shots were chain shot, and flew into the sails and rigging, ripping through the cloth and rope. One of the chain-linked cannonballs tore through the mainsail and continued on, snapping the mizzen mast in half.

The smoke from the fires stung her eyes as they pulled up across the crippled ship's bows, like a wolf approaching a dying bison. The Sirins began to fire, pouring bullets across the deck, and though she couldn't see through the still-burning fires and the smoke, the screams of pain were perfectly audible.

Some of the crew tossed fenders over the sides, and grappling hooks and planks latched onto the bow of the much larger ship as they drew themselves in.

Lauren swallowed her doubts.

It was time to go to work.

* * *

Well, Gin was certainly earning his keep, Vinci thought as he strolled onto the splintered and body-strewn deck. The 'Devil-Man' had led the charge onto this overgrown galleon, and the trail of crushed and battered pirates was clear as day. Completely different wounds compared to what the Sirins and cannon had done, for one.

"Over here, captain."

Vinci followed Kaneki's voice through the smoke. The crew's officers and the Oni- plus Gin- were assembled, the few survivors of the enemy crew forced to kneel in front of them. Most of the prisoners were wounded to some degree or another.

The back of his eyes itched- probably the smoke- and his vision wavered for a minute. He blinked, and the itching faded as his sight returned to normal.

He looked over the prisoners again. One stood out- a man with a long, sea-green coat, one now marred with blood and soot. He looked up at Vinci with bleary eyes. "How?" he croaked. "We had you dead to rights. How the hell did you destroy our guns?"

"I have someone who's a very good shot," Vinci said simply. He looked around. "You fought well," he said.

"Feh. Four fifths of my boys dead and not a scratch on most of you. Fuck 'well'."

"Hm. So you are the captain."

The green-coated man narrowed his eyes, then coughed again. "Not captain of anything anymore, looks like. But...yes. Captain Calico Harkness, of the Sparrow Pirates."

"Do you fear death, Captain Harkness?"

"No."

"Stand up." He looked to Kaneki. "Was he armed?"

The ghoul nodded, and hefted a katana with an ornate hilt. "Damn near took off one of my arms before I got it away from him."

"Give it to him."

The ghoul frowned, but did as ordered, tossing the weapon at the other captain's feet.

"What is this?" Harkness asked. "You're letting me go?"

"Hardly. Call it an experiment, Mister Harkness. I want to see what a captain on the Grand Line does. Your choices are simple. You can leave that blade on the deck, and come with us. We'll drop you off on the next island, even give you a bit of cash so you aren't completely destitute. Your crew, of course, will be slaughtered and quite possibly eaten by some of the less human of my own crewmates. Or you can pick that blade up, and die in their place."

Harkness gaped. The twenty or so surviving Sparrows started panicking. Vinci ignored them, watching the opposing captain intently.

The man grit his teeth, bent, and picked up his sword. "Come and get me, patchface," he said flatly.

" _Shave. Neurotomic Cascade."_

His extended index finger flashed out. Base of throat. Forehead. Sternum. Precise offsets with millimeter tolerances.

Vinci Shaved back to where he'd been standing, turned, and walked away.

"Hey! You bastard! Fight me!"

Vinci smiled, and looked back over his shoulder. "You are already dead."

The captain looked confused. Then he fell to the deck, not breathing.

As they walked back to the ship, leaving the few survivors behind on their vessel, Vinci swore he heard Kaneki mutter something about 'pulling a Kenshiro'.


	13. Chapter 38

"You know, this is somewhat more academically interesting when I'm not the one under the knife," I muse, watching as Vinci goes poking around C's spine.

"It feels weird," my fellow ghoul complains.

"Hey, at least he used anesthetic on you. I didn't get any."

"Well, you are the big brother."

"Kahahaha...only a few days old and already you have a sharp mouth." Also only a few days and he looks like a bald Eustass Kid, but I don't mention that.

"Hmph. Let me take your mind off it, since we won't be interrupted again. Tell me about your powers."

"It's...strange. I tried to use them with other parts of my body, but it only seems to work with my left arm. And...I don't have something like big brother's tails," C says absent-mindedly. "What do you see?"

"Well, you still have the clusters that your 'brother' seems to have," Vinci says, prodding at one of the blisters among the bone and muscles of C's back with a gloved finger. "They're all as small as the undeveloped ones on your 'brother's', though. Given that your brother is over a century old and has only developed _one_ cluster...you probably won't be able to for some time."

"Hmph. And the arm?"

"My guess, you're a Chimera. You might be built off Eustass Kid's DNA, but that's an entirely different thing from letting you use his powers. Honestly, if it was possible to clone Devil Fruit users wholesale someone would've already done it. So you get the power in the arm that already had it, but the rest of you is stock-standard ghoul. Quite interesting. It means Devil Fruit powers don't reside in DNA changes, or at least not entirely…"

I snap my fingers under his nose. "Oi, Vinci. You done looking around?"

"Oh? Oh, yes. I'll close him up now."

" _Thank_ you," C mutters.

It's a bit disconcerting to watch as Vinci administers the counteragent to whatever he's cooked up to inhibit ghoul regeneration and C's flesh closes back up as though it was never injured. And yes, I'm aware of how hypocritical that sounds.

"So, we'll be heading into Turtle Bay in...call it a couple hours. You know the rules?" Vinci asks.

"Stick close to Kaneki and the Oni, don't fight anyone, only eat when it's dark and we won't get caught," C recites dutifully.

"Smart ghoul."

* * *

There were so many people.

C was young, he understood that well, but still, the sheer _number_ of ships- it was something he could barely conceive of. And the people! There were hundreds of them, a cacophony of noise and scent and _life_ that was very close to overwhelming.

But none of it smelled _right_. Father-Brother Kaneki was the strongest of the right-scents, the rest of the Oni-pack behind him, and the rest of the crew-pack bare traces...and then there was The Captain, who smelled...different. **Powerful**. And strange. No wonder Father-Brother and the crew-pack followed him so closely.

All the rest of the people here, they didn't smell like people. Only...prey.

A creak of wooden decking. A whiff of right-scents and old blood.

"You stare any harder at the docks your eyes are going to fall out," Brother said calmly.

C blinked, and Brother laughed.

"It's a joke," he said, grinning, eyes hidden behind the lenses of his mask. "Come on. We need to go get you some proper clothes. And a mask."

"Do I have to?"

"You're a ghoul, so yes. Also, masks are interesting, don't knock them."

"Hmph. I thought Mister Jack said we were short of money."

"Heh. Maybe in terms of running a pirate crew, but I've got enough laid by to be useful for smaller purchases. Long as we're careful we can get pretty much anything."

C nodded. That was good.

 _Ends Justified_ drew up to the dock, and slowly came to a halt. Following Kaneki and the Oni, C walked onto the dock- and stumbled, nearly falling. The land seemed to be shifting under his feet- what on earth?

"Huh. Guess you need to develop land legs," Brother said with a chuckle.

"Land legs?" he asked.

"Ships move. Islands don't. Well, unless something has gone horribly wrong. But you've never been on land, so it'll take a bit for your body to get used to it," Brother explained, offering him a shoulder to lean on. C didn't want to seem weak, but he leaned anyway. If you couldn't trust your own blood, you couldn't trust anyone. That he knew.

"We're going to have to look around for a spell," Brother noted. "This place isn't exactly...reputable."

A door up ahead shattered as a body went hurtling through it. The corpse- he could already tell it was dead, just from the angle of the neck- hit the ground hard.

Nobody even looked up.

C smiled. This place was _interesting_.

He looked around carefully as he let go of Brother's shoulder, his legs steadying with every step. A place to buy masks. Where would one be…

He pointed. "That one?" he asked.

Brother followed his gaze- and froze. "No way," he breathed. "No _fucking_ way." He shivered. "Sure," he said flatly, smelling wary and tense. "That one works just _fine._ "

The place, when they entered, was a riot of masks, all colors and forms, so many they seemed to blur together. It smelled very different from the outside, stale and dusty.

"What's got you on edge, boss?" Bearded-Stocky-Oni-Eka asked quietly, as the rest of the Oni looked around with interest.

"Been in a place like this before. _Exactly_ like this, in the South Blue."

"Oh," Oni-Eka said quietly.

"Yeah."

"You've met my brother, then?" a voice said. C stared as a man stepped out from the seemingly-endless aisles of masks. He sniffed the air as he eyed the flower-covered shirt and giant feathered sash that concealed almost all of the man's features. Couldn't smell anything under the cloying scent of mothballs and cloth. Hmph. Not food, then.

"Brother?" Brother asked coldly.

"Of course. He runs a place in the South Blue. Sextuplets, we are."

"Let me guess. One for each sea," Brother said.

C somehow got the impression of a smile from the animate bundle of horrible fashion sense.

"Just so. Now, masks are your goal, one would presume. For your lesser, or for the pack entire?"

Brother gave Eka a _look_ , and Eka tossed him his mask. Brother handed it to the...man? Man. "Can you incorporate the mechanism in these into whatever mask you make or have in stock?"

The mask vanished into the folds and coils of the gigantic feathered boa. "Easily," the owner replied. "Six for the pack, and a seventh for the…" The coils shifted, and C felt eyes on him. Weighing. Judging. "...runt of the litter," the man concluded. "And, I believe my brother sent word of you. If you would have it, I have something I was warned to keep in stock."

Brother opened his mouth. Closed it. Sighed. "Just...do whatever you do."

Somehow the pile of clashing colors clapped. "Excellent. You, runt. Follow."

C hesitated, but Brother nodded, and so he followed the thing.

"You _are_ young, aren't you?" the thing asked. C just nodded. "Well, that simply means you have potential. A chance to be more than the...runt."

He suddenly very badly wanted to eat this person, whether they smelled like food or not.

"But that will take time. You need at least the appearance of experience and age, don't you...hmm. Yes. I think I have something in mind for you."


	14. Chapter 39

The Boss was on edge. Eka didn't like it much- it made the rest of the Oni on edge as well. Even him, truth be told. It was clear as day- Kaneki was pacing, sure, but the boss was about as subtle as a brick to the face...what worried him was that it was even obvious among the other Oni.

Chandos had leaned himself against one of the shelves, arms folded as he glared at the room over his hooked nose. That was normal, or as normal as he got. The fact that the man's claymore had been yanked out of its sheath and was leaning on the shelf within easy reach _wasn't._

Pamca was harder to read, but not by much. The huge albino was still. Perfectly, completely still, kanabo held loosely in one hand.

Percy was moving slightly, feet slowly shifting through footwork patterns as the bald, battered prizefighter kept his gaze on Kaneki.

Tina was leaning on the haft of her battleaxe, black hair shadowing her features.

Dui...well, Dui was looking around with almost glacial slowness, one hand on his saber and his dark blue hair pulled back in a tail, away from his eyes.

And himself...heh. He let out a breath, and eased up on the white-knuckled grip he had on his cleaver-like dao.

C would be alright. And if he wasn't, it didn't matter what this shopkeep really was. They'd take a price in blood- or the closest equivalent the bastard had. He nodded to himself, forcing his muscles to relax.

As if that was a signal, the sound of the shopkeeper's voice appeared, drawing closer.

C and the shopkeep came into view, and the tension in the air vanished like a pricked balloon. The Boss grinned.

"Looking good, little brother."

C grinned back.

The Boss was right- C cleaned up nice. Somehow the shopkeep had found a three-piece suit, charcoal grey with a dark red tie and white shirt. But what really caught the eye was the mask. Bone white, it covered everything down to the mouth. It resembled a skull more than anything else, right down to the partial jaws that flared down from the sides to mirror C's own, lined with teeth. A slight crest, the same color as the rest, swooped down from his forehead, forming a subtle M-shape that melted into the mandibles on the sides, the topmost points looking almost like horns.

The shopkeep clapped his hands- or, well, whatever was under all those feathers. "You are all satisfied, yes?" he asked. "Good. Now, to the pack…" Suddenly a large red box was in his...fuck it, Eka would call them hands just for sanity's sake. The shopkeep opened it.

Inside, six half-masks, dark red and resembling fang-filled maws, sat in two neat rows of three.

Dui whistled softly. The Boss glared at him, and he stopped.

"They are not supplied with...whatever it is your captain uses it for. But the mechanisms are closely duplicated."

Eka narrowed his eyes. "How'd you know? There's no way you knew we were coming here, not so soon."

"I did not." Eka got the impression of a smile. "But I am very quick, and you, good sir, were kind enough to provide me with an example."

Six masks, that quickly? That was…

Eka sighed. "Guess we've got a lot to learn about the Grand Line and the people on it, then."

"Oh, you have no idea," the shopkeep said.

C fidgeted, and the Boss growled slightly, before taking a step forwards. "You mentioned your...brother...sent something on. Mind showing that as well?"

"But of course."

Eka staggered as the weight of the box suddenly appeared in his hands, but he rallied and carefully lowered the thing to the ground. Christ, did he fill the thing with rocks?

The Boss held a smaller box, black, in his hands. He opened it. His eyes widened, and he put the lid back on the box quickly, before bowing slightly. "Thank you," he gritted out. "What do we owe you?"

"For this? Nothing at all, little cousin."

Wait, _what._

The boss bristled. "You're like me. The others running the shops, too?"

"We are," the shopkeep said calmly. "It is...interesting, to meet one of our kind...and something new is an even greater surprise. Who is your crew?"

"Nightmare Pirates."

"Akakakakakakaka….an auspicious name. I wish you luck, little cousin. You have a hard road ahead, and much to learn...and it is not the place of my brothers or me to teach it to you."

The Boss gave the other ghoul a rude hand gesture, and turned to go.

Eka swallowed his questions, and followed him out.

* * *

Money, money, money. Boring, but sadly necessary.

And that was why Vinci found himself in what passed for a central square in this pirate town, listening to some asshole in gaudy clothing talk.

Seriously, though. He was half-tempted to mug the fellow, even with the mob of goons in plate armor surrounding his little pulpit. There was enough gold thread in his gigantic puffy sleeves to set the Nightmares up for months.

"-the Doge will pay well for strong fighters, and those who serve faithfully will have the opportunity to plunder what they please from the rebels."

Yadda, yadda, yadda, fight these guys for us and we'll give you money. Simple.

"-sail tomorrow for the Archipelago, and those who follow us shall be greatly rewarded."

Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooring.

He looked over the crowd. Most were rough men, almost generic. Boring, and likely useless. But a few caught his eye.

A group of men in hooded cloaks, longbows slung over their bodies.

A grey-bearded, heavily built man in an ornate coat, with five others in dress uniforms standing directly behind him.

A massive man in a horned helmet, and a crowd of smaller men carrying shields.

A pair of men, one carrying a gigantic tuning fork, the second anonymous in bronze armor.

Heh. Maybe this could be interesting after all...

* * *

Night was fun.

His new clothes and mask were fun, too, but he really liked hunting at night. Parts of the town were quiet, but others were loud and full of light.

Mostly bars. He could tell from the smell of alcohol.

C jumped from rooftop to rooftop, grinning to himself. Brother had gone elsewhere, letting him hunt on his own, saying he trusted that instinct would work well enough.

C wasn't sure about that himself, but it didn't matter. He might not have Father-Brother's tails, but he had powers, and with the knives he was carrying it didn't matter- magnetic force could propel the blades faster than bullets, that much The Captain had taught him.

Hmm. There weren't many people around. He'd probably want to hide out somewhere, ambush them. Running someone down would probably be...tiring. And attract attention.

He jumped down from his rooftop.

Edge of town...good. He sniffed the air. There were some people, coming closer, but still distant. He turned the corner. And looked up. And up. And _up._

"Hello!" he said brightly to the gigantic man. The guy had bear ears on his hat- that was definitely awesome. And besides, he smelled like oil, not prey. Probably wouldn't be tasty.

The very large person looked down, a very slow process. "Hello," he said gravely.

"Who're you? And where'd you get that hat?"

The large man blinked, clearly surprised. "I have had it for years. And I am Bartholomew Kuma."

"Oh, cool. I like that name, jishakukukuku...what're you doing here, Mr. Bartholomew?"

"If you went on a journey, where would you like to go?"

C cocked his head. What kind of question was that? "I don't know. I like this place here, I guess. It's interesting." He smiled. "What about you, Mr. Bartholomew?"

"I have a place in mind. And a great deal of work to do. Now, if you would excuse me…"

"C, what're you- _oh fuck what the hell._ "

"Brother! I made a new friend!"


	15. Chapter 40

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_

"C? Go back to the ship. Now."

"But-"

 _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh_ _fuck_

" _Now."_

C looks up at the Warlord- _ohfuckwhyishehereohfuckwhy-_ and then legs it, passing me quickly.

I stare at Kuma, and sigh. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" I grin. "Well, you really should know something about Sabo...Kuma of the Revoluti-"

 _Ohfuckhe'sfast-_

A gigantic palm slams into my chest, sending me crashing into the nearest wall- and the wall after that, and after _that_ , before the rest of what I presume used to be a house collapses on top of me.

For several moments, all I can do is lay there and try not to pass out, as my body tries to knit itself together.

Maybe mouthing off to the deep-cover agent wasn't the smartest plan...owwwwww…

And then just like that there's no rubble on top of me, a distant crash and the looming shape of my fourth least favorite Warlord of the Sea telling me exactly what happened to it.

"'Butcher Bird' Yoshimura Kaneki. Bounty of nineteen million."

A hand clamps around my body, and I'm lifted to eye height.

"You will explain the source of your knowledge."

"Can't…"

His grip tightens.

"Urgh...government'll know it…'ll pull it out've your skull… _Pacifista._ "

His eyes narrow a fraction.

The sound of shattering glass comes from somewhere off to the side, and Kuma looks to the side- my own neck is a little too _shattered_ to turn and look myself.

"Oh god- IT'S KUMA!"

Okay, screaming, so probably a pirate.

Kuma drops me to the ground- it's not like I'm going anywhere, I'm pretty sure legs aren't supposed to bend like that- and vanishes out of my field of vision. Screaming results.

C'mon c'mon c'mon... _ **crack**_ **-** _fuck that hurts!_

No. Fuck this.

My tails rip free, slamming into the ground and lifting my _very_ broken body into the air. My vertebrae click back into place, and I raise my head.

Well, Kuma's kicked the fucking anthill now. Every pirate, corsair, and buccaneer in the town- and all the retired ones who probably make up the 'civilian' side of things- is going after the big guy, an astonishing array of weapons and techniques hitting the cyborg. Bullets, cannonballs, thrown blades, fire, arrows…and none of it so much as _fazes_ him. Christ, it's like watching a chainsaw go through butter.

"Well, you're in a pickle, aren't you?"

I turn myself, and glare at that _fucking shopkeeper._ "And you aren't fighting the Warlord _why_?"

"Now why would I do that? I am, after all, just a simple mask salesman. By the way, you may want to start running. He won't be distracted for long."

"You call that breaking my spine? You Warlord bastards wouldn't know how to break my spine if- _ **OH GOD THE PAIN!**_ "

I nod fractionally. "Noted."

I leg it.

* * *

Vinci looked in the direction of the town, and listened carefully to the horrifying noises coming from within.

"Nope," he said authoritatively. "We are _not_ going to get involved in that."

There was a barely audible sigh of relief from the assembled crew.

"This is probably Kaneki's fault. Somehow," Gin grumbled.

"That's C running over here, isn't it?" Jack observed. "We can ask him."

Vinci eyed the ghoul as he ran up to where _Ends Justified_ was docked. He didn't look injured, which was probably a good sign...but Kaneki wasn't with him. That...did not bode well.

"What the hell's going on there, kid?" he asked, pointing to the town.

Something over there exploded violently, sending flaming debris above the rooftops.

C smiled nervously. "Met someone named Bartholomew Kuma, brother told me to run away from him. Maybe they're fighting?"

Kuma.

Everyone on the crew froze.

"So..what you're telling me, is that a _Warlord of the Sea_ is currently thrashing our first mate," Vinci said flatly.

"PREPARE TO CAST OFF!" Jack shouted, starting to run to the ship's wheel. Vinci grabbed the man's collar and yanked him back.

"We _aren't_ leaving without him," he growled. "Understood?"

Jack nodded quickly, and Vinci let the man go.

"Well, here he comes, so looks like we don't have to worry," Gin observed, utterly deadpan.

Vinci's eyes snapped back to the docks, zeroing in on a tangle of red tendrils that were propelling a battered and bloody Kaneki onward with astonishing speed.

He got away from Kuma, then. Impressive.

Vinci realized he'd spoken too soon as the massive form of the Warlord fell out _of the god-damned sky_ to slam his first mate into the planks of the docks.

There was a moment of utter silence as everyone absorbed the fact they were dealing with someone who could probably kill them all fairly easily.

Vinci glanced back across the harbor. Ships were already leaving, crews he recognized hauling ass. One galley, propelled by oars and skittering across the waves like an oversized waterbug, was probably the vessel of the guy who had been planning to hire them.

Fuck it. He had more important things to handle now.

"Excuse me? Mr. Bartholomew Kuma?"

The Warlord's impassive eyes panned up to where Vinci stood, and he grinned in response. Kaneki made some muffled noises from the crater he was pressed into.

"That's my first mate you're beating down on. I'm going to have to ask you to let go of him."

"No."

Vinci shrugged. "Oh, well. It was worth a try. You here on government business, hunting down pirates? Curious, that the Marines haven't tried this before."

"For fuck's sake shoot him or run away, stop talking to the damn combat cyborg," Kaneki shouted from the ground. Vinci ignored him.

Kuma didn't respond. Vinci's grin widened.

"I have to wonder...there's quite a few pirates making an escape as we're standing here. What makes us so important? We're minor players, all things considered. Why hunt down my first mate, specifically?"

Kuma said nothing. Vinci chuckled.

"You're a terrible conversationalist, you know that? What is it you want?"

Kuma removed his hand from where it was pinning Kaneki to the docks. "Information," he said flatly, looking down at the ghoul.

Kaneki snarled, getting to his feet. "Like I said, anything I fucking tell you is gonna end up on government logs, sooner or later. You think I want to put a target on my back?"

"Kaneki," Vinci said softly. The ghoul's head whipped around, staring at him. "Tell him whatever he wants. You'll let us go if we do, right?"

Kuma considered. "That depends on the information," the Warlord said.

Kaneki looked up at Vinci, and the crew lining the rails. "Fuck," he said quietly, so softly even Vinci's hearing barely caught it. "Fine. Pass this on to your boss, you bastard tin can. The Chief of Staff is brother to _his_ son, by bond if not by blood...and the Empty Throne _isn't._ "

Kuma froze. "Acceptable," he said flatly. His gaze turned back to Vinci. "Now. Run. We never spoke."

The Warlord stepped back. A breeze blew a haze of smoke between him and the ship.

When it cleared, he was gone.

"...Orders, Captain?" Jack asked quietly.

Vinci thought for a moment. "Get us following that galley. And Kaneki? Get aboard. We have a lot to talk about."


	16. Chapter 41

**AN:** In the original version on Spacebattles, the bits that are bolded are gold-colored. has no such provision for this, though.

* * *

The walls seem far too close.

Most of the officers are assembled. Only waiting on Vinci. Herman's staying up above, keeping us following the makeshift flotilla of pirates (and one rich guy willing to buy mercenary work like it's going out of style) fleeing from Kuma's rampage.

That leaves Jack, Lauren, and Gin, all watching me like I'm a half-tamed animal, sitting around a round table. I think this room was supposed to be an officer's meeting room or something- it's located in the central structure around the mainmast, and also holds the transponder snails, the maps, and several other books, most of them in cases and shelves lining the bulk of the mainmast that fills the center of the room.

The only sound is the ticking of the large clock bolted to the table, and the soft snoring of the quintet of transponder snails.

The door creaks open. Vinci walks in.

"So," my captain says, very calmly, as he takes a seat across from me. "You seem to know a great deal about the Revolutionaries. Despite you saying you're an amnesiac. Care to explain?"

Oh shit, he's _pissed._

"I-"

 _Puru puru puru puru...puru puru puru puru…_

Everyone stares at one of the transponder snails, ringing like mad. After a moment, Jack stands, picks up the mollusc, and plunks it down on the table, pulling the receiver off with a click.

The snail's eyes go completely blank, and its features stretch and morph into a massive grin.

" _Well, now,"_ it says. " _I couldn't just let you spill the beans like that. You're terrible with people, little wyrm. Probably mess it up, and then all the effort I put into this little shell game will've been for nothing."_

"Who are you?" Vinci asks. "And what exactly have you done to my first mate?"

" _Shishishininini...It's simple. In his world, there's a story. A one of pirates and seas and impossible tales, following a boy who'd be King of the Pirates...following a crew that shakes the world itself...but it isn't_ this _crew. I simply placed him in the right time, place, and body, to intensify the chaos that will result from_ that boy's _actions."_ The snail's grin widens. " _It will be interesting, don't you think?"_

"You made him a ghoul?" Vinci asks.

The snail somehow shrugs. " _The body was already wandering around, utterly mindless. I just shucked his consciousness out of his original body and put it in. Left quite a mess back home, too, shishishininininini…"_

I snarl. "You utter _bastard._ "

 _Pain_ rips through my body, hurling me out of my chair and leaving me curled up on the floor.

" _Now, now,"_ the snail chides. " _There's no need to be rude, little wyrm. You should be thanking me. I gave you a chance to see more than you'd ever do in your previous life. Now you, little scientist...your first mate is quite a treasure. He knows far more secrets than you'd imagine, and for the futures that might unfold, knowledge is most certainly power. I could give you the same gifts…"_

I raise my head from the floor, struggling up to hands and knees, and look up at my captain.

Vinci's smile vanishes like a pricked bubble as he looks down at the snail, his eyes beginning to glow gold.

"You harmed one of my crew. You trapped my first mate in a jungle, far from aid, forcing him into a body that required him to become a monster to avoid starvation. You took him from his home and his family without even asking. You toy with his fate- with all our fates- and you think I will accept a bargain with you? No, daemon, I will **_not._** " The burning in his eyes flares so bright I can hardly stand to look at it, as golden liquid runs down my captain's cheeks and _burns_ the table where it falls. **" _Now get thee gone from this world, unholy creature, and if thou ever touches one of my crew again, I will bring all I can bear to destroy thee until even history forgets you ever were, on every world that is, was, and WILL BE!"_**

The transponder snail bursts into flames.

There's a small moment of silence as the flames die down, consuming the snail- and only the snail. Vinci puts a hand to his face, and pulls it away, examining the golden ichor on his fingers.

"Captain...did you just hate one of our transponder snails to death?" Jack asks quietly.

"No idea," Vinci says absent-mindedly. "My eyes are leaking gold. That's a new one." His gaze snaps to me, and I get up as quickly as I can manage.

"Kaneki," he asks quietly. "Who's the one?"

I swallow. "'Straw Hat' Monkey D. Luffy."

"Hmph. The one who's taken the East Blue by storm. You sure he'll succeed?"  
I consider. "He's got the will, and he's got the power, for Paradise at least. And...yes. I believe he will."

"Hm. Alright. This...story...followed him and his crew? Did we...ever appear in it?"

I shake my head. "No. You…" I stop, my throat closing for a moment, and take a breath. "Think, captain. I found you on the gallows. If...if I never came…"

Vinci nods. "Right." He looks over the officers for a moment. "You got any concerns of your own?" he asks flatly.

Everyone shakes their heads, save Gin, who stares at me. "So you saw Krieg get his ass handed to him, and what happened to me?" he asks.

I nod. "Never saw you afterwards. You got on that tiny boat from the Baratie, and were never seen again. So..."

The Devil-Man sighs. "Alright, that answers that. I'm good, captain."

"Right." Vinci claps his hands. "Kaneki, not sure how good your knowledge is, but write it all down. Every scrap of information, no matter how small. Especially about the Grand Line, and how we'll reach Raftel."

"What's your plan, Captain?" Lauren asks.

Vinci grins. "Straw Hat can be King, I don't care. I just plan on going there. If that means I beat him there...well, we've already shanked Fate in a back alley with Kaneki being here, so it doesn't matter what Straw Hat was originally destined to do, does it?"

"Korokorokoroko...you're not one to think small, are you, Captain?" Jack says. "Should I tell the men?"

Vinci frowns. "They heard him admit stuff to Kuma...let them know that Kaneki has..unusual sources."

I raise a hand. "Might be pretty easy to convince them. The mask salesman I told you about...well, he's creepy enough, and the Oni have probably been spreading stories about him already. Makes more sense than the truth, anyway."

Vinci nods. "Right. So, any other secrets? Anyone related to someone important? Or have a secret tattoo that makes them heir to an ancient power? Anything ridiculous like that?"

"The guy who you just banished through sheer hate branded me with some alchemy tree thing," I say, semi-flippantly. "That's about it."

"I'm at least fairly certain my grandpa was the guy who invented the revolver and was murdered by Sam Walker for his designs," Lauren adds, loading fresh bullets into her own weapon. "Take that with a grain of salt, though. Never proved it."

"Hmph. Anyone else?"

Silence.

"Right, now if there's no further revelations-"

There's a knock on the door. Vinci glares at it. "What is it?" he says, with a bit more growl in it than's necessary.

"One of the other captains wants to call a meeting, sir," Pravilno's voice says, muffled slightly by the door. "He's sent...well, you need to see for yourself."

Vinci nods. "Kaneki, Jack, with me. Lauren, get to Herman, fill him in- _quietly_. Keep the boys quiet while we go to this...meeting."

"Aye, captain."


	17. Chapter 42

"Vinci?" I ask quietly.

"No, you're not hallucinating, I'm pretty sure he's real," my captain responds, staring, just as I am, at the guy who's come aboard.

"GREETERLINGS!" the flamboyantly dressed man booms. "I AM SPINOLA MAURICE, COMMANDER OF THE FOURTH COMPANY OF TERCIO MERCENARY ENDEAVORS. FIELD MARSHAL GRENZER WISHES TO INVITE YOUR OFFICERS TO HIS VESSEL, THE _OFFSHORE BATTERY_ , TO DISCUSS A MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL FINANCIAL ENDEAVOR."

"My ears are bleeding…" one of the crew mutters.

"So are my eyes," another adds.

I close my eyes, trying to un-see the image of someone who dresses like a colorblind peacock who'd careened through a paint store. I am not particularly successful.

Christ, I think Ivankov was more restrained, at least he was being _deliberately_ campy and ridiculous, rather than...whatever the hell this guy is. So many layers and all of them clashed with each other…

"Kaneki, snap out of it," Vinci says. I open my eyes, and grimace. Still horrifying. Bearable, but horrifying.

"DO YOU ACCEPT?" Maurice booms.

"First, stop shouting. Second, yes, now where the hell is your ship."

"PRIMUS, I AM NOT SHOUTING. I AM MERELY EXERCISING THE MIGHT OF MY PERFECT VOCAL CORDS. SECUNDUS, LOOK TO YOUR LEFT."

I look.

Then I turn back, and glare at Herman from where he's manning the ship's wheel. "How did you miss something like _that?_ " I growl, pointing at the _fucking battleship_ hovering off our port side. Seriously, it's a full-sized battleship, and I'm fairly certain I can see traces of the old Marine paint underneath the coating of black and yellow bands on the hull. Probably stole it, just like us.

"I didn't miss, I just didn't tell you," the dogman says smugly. "We're supposed to be working together, aren't we?"

Vicni facepalms. "Kaneki. Just get us onto that ship. I am almost entirely fed up with this diurnal duration."

I think about the brand on my chest and the mask that is _most definitely not_ coming out of its black box, and nod in sympathy before pushing out four tails and pulling my mask on. "If you're coming along, grab a tail," I growl.

Jack gives the proffered appendage an askance glance before reluctantly grabbing hold. Vinci seems to have no such compunctions.

A-one and a-two...I leap off of _Ends Justified_ , and land smoothly on the deck of the... _Offshore Battery_. Men in uniforms- yellow and black stripes on the shirts, black trousers- scatter as I let Vinci and Jack put foot on the deck before letting the tails dissolve away.

The walking fashion flashbang lands on the deck next to us just as easily. Hmph. Was hoping he'd have to swim back. No such luck I guess.

"THE FIELD MARSHAL IS BELOW. THE OTHER CAPTAINS, AND THE CLIENT, SHALL BE JOINING US SHORTLY. MY FELLOW COMPANY COMMANDERS ARE ADDRESSING THEM."

"Are they all this loud?" I mutter.

"NEGATORY."

"Why're we the first?"

"YOUR VESSEL WAS CLOSEST TO OUR OWN GLORIOUS TRANSPORT. NOW FOLLOW."

I give Vinci a raised eyebrow, but he follows the riot of color, and so Jack and I follow as well.

I hope this doesn't go poorly.

* * *

Konig Grenzer was an old man. Unlike some of the old men who insisted upon sailing the seas, he was well aware of this fact. His fists could still shatter stone and his vision was still keen, but every day he was a little bit weaker than the day before. Still, forty years of mercenary work meant he had a wealth of experience few men could match.

Among the many skills and talents he'd amassed over the years, was one that had served him particularly well- the ability to read people at a glance. And he employed it as he swept his eyes across the assembled captains that had heeded his call, and his own officers...who stood behind the captains, ready to strike if one of them did something...foolish.

The first to catch his eye was Quare 'Toll' Doppel, captain of the Gear Pirates, and his second in command Foglio 'Bronze' Clare, 48 and 18 million, respectively.. The captain was a blunt-faced, serious man, his dark brown trench coat unremarkable, the outsized tuning fork he carried habitually at his side, within easy reach. He was passive, but wary. He wouldn't strike first. Foglio, by contrast, was clearly on edge, the sounds of grinding gears clearly audible from within the bronze armor that covered him. Behind them, Adolphus Gabriel, his Second Company Commander, stood quietly, immaculate in his grey suit and tie as always. The small and utterly inoffensive man met Grenzer's eye, and nodded almost invisibly. Good. The Gears were tractable.

Next was the hooded and cloaked form of Arnor 'Strider' Skantarios, his features invisible under the all-concealing off-white fabric. The captain of the Ranger Pirates was a 39 million enigma, with none of his crimes listed on his bounty poster. Perhaps merely being a pirate was enough. It would not be the first time. Even with his features hidden, though, nothing escaped Grenzer's eye. The man was at ease here, confident- or arrogant- enough in belief of his abilities that he didn't care if he was walking into a trap. A glance at the stocky form of his Fifth Company Commander, Tromp Werth, told him more. The comically short, heavily bearded man eyed the captain with barely concealed disgust, hands on the hilts of his axes. Hmph. The Rangers would be arrogant and insulting, then. That, he could handle.

The man next around the table resembled Werth greatly, if one took his subordinate and stretched him on a rack. A gigantic man, his horned helmet and shaggy blond beard almost completely obscured his face. Eric 'Hard' Knutte, the 51-million captain of the Steel Shield Pirates, was experienced, Grenzer would admit. His small flotilla of South-Blue-originating raiders had caused trouble up and down the Line for years. Behind him, Gustavus Frederick, the Third Company Commander, was utterly at ease in a tank top and shorts. The man grinned behind his sunglasses, and leaned against the wall of the room, unconcerned. That meant the Steel Shields would follow, which made sense. Knutte was not an imaginative man, and he'd follow the money.

The Client was next to meet Grenzer's eye. A rich man, but nervous to be in the same room as so many deadly individuals, even with his armored guards. His name didn't matter. He was simply the Client, and that meant Tercio Mercenary Endeavors would follow his money. Behind him, Ivan Wallenstein, his First Company Commander and most trusted subordinate, met Grenzer's eye, and gave him a slow nod. Hrrm. Good, the man actually had the money on board his vessel to pay their price, and the price for all the captains as well.

Last, and in Grenzer's opinion, most worrisome, was the trio Spinola Maurice had brought in. The Nightmare Pirates. New names. The captain grinned back at Grenzer, a shock of black hair topping a face laced with scars. Grigori 'Alley Doc' Vinci, a bounty that had jumped to 38 million but a few days before his crew had come to Turtle Bay. Yoshimura 'Butcher Bird' Kaneki, first mate, worth 26 million, and a cannibal. Rubeus 'Thundering Hammer' Jack, worth 12 million. The lowest bounty of the captains, but only a few months old, while all the others were known quantities, people who'd had careers in the Blues for years before entering the Line. He'd sent Maurice to them to provoke a reaction, but judging from the flamboyant man's unusual stillness, they weren't operating as expected- by which he meant, violence and slaughter.

Vinci met Grenzer's eyes, and the pirate's irises burned gold.

Grenzer smiled. Brat had spine, at least.

"Gentlemen," he said slowly. "Welcome. Marquis," he added, looking at the client. "Would you kindly explain the contract?"

The Client twitched, then looked around at the various pirates quickly. "Y-y-yes," he stammered. "I-" He stopped. Swallowed. "I am the Marquis de la Hablarpublico, Minister of the Doge of the Spice Archipelago. The Doge has been dealing with unrest for some years now, but now...now something has changed. Edwyn Roberts, a magnate of industry, has thrown his coin and power behind a rebellion, seeking to usurp the Doge. He has hired a wide variety of blackguards and mercenaries, since the stalwart forces of the Royal Guard are more than enough to put down his pathetic followers. I have been authorized to hire whoever is willing to fight for the Royal Army, to counter these pirates."

"How much we talking?" Jack asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Fifty million as an advance, per crew. An additional hundred upon the rebellion being crushed. And...six hundred million to whoever brings the Doge the head of Roberts."

A surrussus ran through the room at that.

Grenzer linked his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Tercio Mercenary Endeavors has five hundred men, and experience in large-scale deployments. I motion that I shall take command of our combined forces. What say you?"

The captains considered.

Knutte grinned. "For a hundred and fifty mil? I'll follow that, old man. Just don't fuck up."

Skantarios nodded. "Acceptable," he rasped.

Doppel frowned. "You waste my men's lives, I'll be unhappy," he warned. "But fine."

Vinci...Vinci looked at Grenzer, expression blank. Then he nodded, slowly. "You've got the highest bounty, don't you? Hundred and twenty-one million," he said with another sudden grin. "Don't get that without being smart. I'll follow."

Grenzer clapped his hands. "Excellent! Now...what are your capabilities? We need to know how many men we have on hand, and how good they are, after all."

Conversation began, and Grenzer relaxed a bare fraction. This was just another campaign. No more, no less.


	18. Chapter 43

"Let me just say, captain, I don't like this," I say quietly, leaning on the rail and staring at the bulk of the _Offshore Battery_ as we sail near it. The weather's been rough- duh, it's the fucking Grand Line, enough that the Marquis handed out a bunch of Eternal Poses to keep everyone on course. _Ends Justified_ , _Offshore Battery,_ and Knutte's collection of longships have managed to stay together, but the Marquis's galley and the ships of the Ranger and Gear Pirates have been separated.

Good fucking riddance.

"What is it you don't like? Sailing?" Vinci asks.

"You know what I mean. Not exactly fond of ending up as some royal asshole's jackbooted thug."

"Jackboots aren't the worst thing to wear, you know. Quite useful."

"Cap _tain._ "

Vinci grins disarmingly and raises his hands. "I get it. Rebels probably have a point, might even be completely justified. We don't know yet. And when we do know…"

"We'll be under contract to crush them," I say morosely.

Vinci laughs, and I glare. "You think that's funny?"

"I think you forgetting who we are is funny, yes," Vinci says, a scalpel suddenly twirling in his fingers. "We're _pirates_ , Kaneki. Minute this Doge turns out to be rotten, we can slit his throat, loot his treasury, and turn our coats to the rebel side, if the morals bother you so much."

I blink, then chuckle. "Misjudged you, then, Captain. My apologies."

"None needed. You're supposed to be the moral compass around here. And having said that, realizing that the anthropovore is our crew's moral center terrifies me," Vinci says, utterly deadpan.

I laugh. "Fuck off, Captain," I say, walking away from the rail and picking up my guitar from where I'd rested it against the foremast. "Well, got nothing else to do, how 'bout some music?"

"Sure, so long as it's not depressing."

"Pff, there you go asking for the impossible from me again," I say with a grin. "Fine. How about…"

" _Well  
Reverend, reverend please come quick  
'Cause I've got something to admit  
I met a man out in the sticks  
A good old mess  
He rode a big black thoroughbred and wore a cigar on his lip."_

Some of the crew on deck look up as I play, and several begin to nod along with the music.

" _Don't you know the devil wears a suit and tie  
Saw him riding down the 61' in early July  
White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife  
I heard him howling as he passed me by."_

My grin widens as I let my eyes shift, turning black.

" _And he said  
I know you, I know you young man  
I know you by the state of your hands  
You're a six-string picker  
Just as I am  
Let me learn you something  
I know a few turns to make all the girls dance."_

Out of the corner of my eye, far distant, I see Grenzer look up from the deck of the _Offshore Battery_ , the man's grey braided beard bristling and the sleeves of his black coat billowing in the wind.

" _Don't you know the devil wears a suit and tie  
Saw him riding down the 61' in early July  
White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife  
I heard him howling as he passed me by."_

My grin widens as I see the old man walk to the rail of his vessel, clearly listening intently.

" _Oh...  
Foolish, foolish was I  
Damn my foolish eyes  
'Cause that man's lessons  
Had a price, oh sweet price  
My sweet soul, everlasting  
A very own eternal light."_

Even as far away as he is, I can see the sharp intake of breath he makes.

 _Don't you know that the devil wears a suit and tie  
Saw him riding down the 61' in early July  
White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife  
I heard him howling as he passed me by  
Well, the devil wears a suit and tie  
I saw him riding down the 61' in early July  
White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife  
I heard him howling as he passed me by..."_

* * *

Jack read the first sheet of the large stack of papers Kaneki had produced.

By the third bullet-point his eyebrows were threatening to hit orbit. He forced his expression into normalcy with a grunt, and looked at Kaneki, who was visibly fidgeting.

"This is all true?"

"As much as I can accurately remember, yes," the ghoul said.

"Hmph. Might as well shoot myself now, then. And- oh God damn it."

"What?"

"Most of the damn crew heard you talk to Kuma, right?"

"Probably. I can't imagine anyone slept through it."

"That means they heard you talking about the Empty Throne. _Fuck._ I'll have to keep them off shore leave."

"Why?"

Jack's eye twitched, and he took a deep breath. He had to remember- Kaneki didn't understand this world. Didn't grow up in the Blues, or the Line, or anywhere else the ideals of the World Government held sway. "Do you understand just how important the Empty Throne is? The idea that no one nation is able to trample over another? The fact that the entire time, it's been occupied...the Marines will _slaughter_ us if they get word of such a thing and take it seriously. And with how Kuma backed off, it's a guarantee they will if they do hear about it. The last thing we need is someone dropping an Admiral on our heads because our men talked too much while drunk."

Kaneki leaned forwards slightly. "Don't you think you're being a bit paranoid?"

"With how you're certain that they _murdered an entire nation of scholars_ because of them _knowing about the past_ , not. In. The. Slightest."

Kaneki nodded. "Fair. Want me to break the news?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I'll let the captain handle it. Just...how bad is all this?"

Kaneki sighed, then cracked his neck. "Government's rotten to the core, the Celestial Dragons are raping, enslaving assholes who are utterly immune to prosecution thanks to the threat of an Admiral intervening if you lay hands on one, Donquixote Doflamingo is selling artificial Devil Fruits to Kaido under the alias Joker and using his combination of Warlord and ex-Celestial Dragon status to keep it secret, Vice Admiral Vergo's a plant in the Marines for Joker, Amber Lead Syndrome isn't contagious and I'm fairly sure the island was killed off because there was a family carrying the Will of D. living there, there's a fellow named Blackbeard running around with the Dark-Dark Fruit and plans to usurp Whitebeard who succeeded a few months from now in the old timeline, Straw Hat Luffy is the adopted brother of Fire Fist Ace and the Revolutionary Chief of Staff, the son of Dragon, and the grandson of Garp the Hero, Cipher Pol 9 is real and murderously effective, ditto Cipher Pol Aegis Zero...also, there's islands in the sky that are inhabited by, arguably, angels."

Jack facepalmed, and held up his other hand, cutting off the torrent of words. "If I hadn't had proof from the snail's mouth I'd be calling you a liar," he muttered. "Anything _usable_?"

Kaneki shrugged. "Not unless we train to the point of being New-World-class and plan on undoing Doffy's operations, not yet. Might come in handy if we run into the Straw Hats somehow. There's a few bits that could be interesting."

"Hmph. Alright. Keep your mouth shut. The fewer people know secrets like this, the better."

"I'd prefer not to be disintegrated, frozen, or incinerated, so yes," Kaneki said flatly.

* * *

Lauren gathered up her courage, and knocked on the lab door.

Her captain answered, grinning. "What is it?"

"I need your help."


	19. Chapter 44

"We have to practice down here...why?" Gin asked dubiously, looking around _Ends Justified'_ s hold. Wasn't a lot of space, between the walled-off bits where the lab was supposed to be and all the cargo everywhere else.

Kaneki shrugged. "Something about keeping our actual fighting ability a secret. Captain doesn't trust the other crews, for all that we're supposed to be working together."

Gin snorted. "It's going to be a wonder if we don't end up turning on each other by the end of whatever fight we're being hired to participate in."

"Captain's making plans for when they try to stab us in the back," Kaneki confirmed. "We want them not knowing we've got armor on when they do...metaphorically speaking."

"Hmph. And I'm fighting the walking magnet _why?_ "

"You are a silicate artillery piece," said magnet said brightly.

Kaneki sighed. "Glass cannon, C."

"That is what I said, yes?"

"I have a feeling I should be kind of insulted by that," Gin said. "Should I?"

Kaneki shrugged. "Insulted or not, doesn't change the fact that you _still_ need to toughen up. Starvation sticks around, and we're trying to get you up to speed against the rest of the officers."

"Not the rank and file?" Gin asked dryly, taking out his tonfa.

Kaneki shook his head. "Out've them, pretty sure only Ostavila could take you in a fight. And that's because-"

"-she cheats," C and Gin said at the same time.

"Right. So, you're deadly enough to be officer material...but pretty sure Lauren or Jack could beat you out for toughness, if only because of their knowledge of Iron Body. So we're going to work on that. And C needs to learn combat in general, so you get to treat him like an indestructible test dummy."

Hmm. Gin nodded slowly, and cracked his neck. "When you put it like that, can't really object," he said, starting to spin his tonfa. C cracked his knuckles, and dropped into a boxer's stance.

"Thought you were a ranged fighter," Gin said casually, as his tonfa spun faster and faster.

"Brother says I must improve my non-Devil-Fruit abilities," the ghoul-clone said calmly. "So I am doing so."

"Heh. Suppose that's fair... _Demon Dance!"_

His legs launched him forwards fast enough to be mistaken for a Shave, and his tonfas swung, one from above, the other from the side.

C blocked the overhead strike, his crossed arms visibly bending under the blow, but the second tonfa caught him in the ribs, knocking him down.

Gin didn't let up. Any other opponent, he might've, but a ghoul would heal and get back up in moments. " _Hell's Descent!"_ he shouted, bringing both tonfa down at once on his opponent before he could do more than get up on hands and knees. Bones cracked, and C was driven flat again. Gin backed up, keeping his tonfa rotating. He reminded himself that the purpose here was to teach C some fighting skills, not just crush him in a fight he wasn't suited for.

C's bones cracked again as his spine visibly reshaped itself under his thin shirt, and the ghoul got to his feet. "You are tough," he said calmly, returning to that boxing stance. "My turn now."

C was fast. Not as fast as Gin these days (something he had the captain to thank for...and maybe Kaneki, training sadist though he was), but a decent turn of speed, especially as he was lunging forwards. Good punch, too, solid form- not that it stopped Gin from sidestepping the attack, tonfa hafts lashing out. One on the elbow, the other on the forearm. He applied pressure, working against the joint, and C's arm _crunched_ under the leverage.

Not that it stopped the ghoul's other fist from landing an uppercut against his jaw. Gin's head snapped back as stars scattered across his vision, but he grit his teeth and swung back. C was too close for his tonfa to build up a lot of speed, but the haft smacking into his chest forced him back a step, and gave Gin the room he needed to swing the other tonfa back around, slamming it into C's knee. The ghoul stumbled- and then flipped into a handspring, legs coming around in a motion that reminded Gin all too well of Sanji, forcing him to block or take a boot-clad foot to the temple.

Luckily, the packing crate interrupted his flight across the ship's hold.

"I think we'll call a halt here," Kaneki said mildly.

Gin groaned.

* * *

The ship's deck was empty.

Mists surrounded _Ends Justified_ , only a small circle of water around the ship itself clear.

He looked up. The sails were tattered, bare fragments waving. What...what had happened? Where was everyone?

His nose found nothing, save the scent of the ship itself and the sea.

What was this?

"Boy."

No. No. Nononononononononono…

"Boy. Face me."

Herman's legs felt like lead, but he turned. And faced a walking corpse.

Wyald looked surprisingly good for a dead man. Someone appeared to have stitched his head back on, and even connected the halves of his torso that Amakatta had split open back together, thick black stitches straining against his bloodstained clothing.

"This is a dream," Herman said.

Wyald smiled. "Is it, boy?"

"Kaneki ate your corpse after I cut it apart, and while I'm fairly sure the captain could probably revive the dead he can't reconstruct a human from _shit_. So a dream. Or, a nightmare," Herman said with a calm he was certainly not feeling. He reached for Amakatta, and his hand grasped empty air.

Wyald's grin widened. "Looking for this?" he asked, hefting Herman's blade in one hand. "It suits me better, I think, boy."

Herman's knuckles cracked like gunshots as his hands clenched into fists. "You're a phantom. Nothing more."

"Am I? Tell me." Wyald waved the blade almost carelessly, and a line of fire carved itself into Herman's chest, sending him stumbling back. He put a hand to the wound, and his fingers came away bloody. He stared at the blood on his gauntlets. A weapon. He needed a-

In the blink of an eye, Wyald was in front of him, the massive man's hand on his throat, slamming him into the wood of the mainmast. Splinters dug into Herman's back, piercing his cloak and armor with ease.

"What are you, boy?" he growled. "A half-rate swordsman, a third-rate navigator, you don't even have a dream of your own! You have no ambition, no pride!" Herman's view began to narrow as Wyald's grip tightened. "What are you, boy? You aren't even the third-best fighter on your own crew, your job directing the ship could be taken over by any fool with a Log Pose, and you sure as hell can't cut steel...so _what use are you, boy?_ "

Herman's breath burned in his lungs, fire spreading in his veins as his entire body cried out for oxygen. He couldn't-

" _What use are you?!"_

Couldn't-

"Herman!"

His vision was going dark-

"Herman!"

He was burning-

 **"Wake up, Herman."**

Gah!

His eyes flew open, and he sat up. Walls. Ceiling. Floor. The lab. The captain. What.

"What-" He stopped, and coughed, his throat feeling like sandpaper. His entire body felt sore, but his airway was the worst. "What the hell…"

"Some short term memory loss, hmm…" the captain said. "How do you feel?"

Herman tried to take deep breaths, ignoring the gradually fading pain in his throat and lungs. "Like shit," he said flatly. "What happened?"

"You volunteered to test out one of Lauren's gas grenades. Which one…"

"The hallucinogenic one," Lauren- great, there she was, standing on the other side of the lab.

"Yes, that. Anyway, you started having muscle seizures, I administered the counteragent, and woke you back up. You remember anything about the hallucination?"

"It was...Wyald. Something about how I was useless," Herman said shortly, swinging his legs off the laboratory cot.

"Hm. A success, then."

Herman just growled. The captain chuckled.

"Hey, you volunteered for it. Not sure _why_ , but you did. Actually, if you could tell me…"

"Last I remember was deciding to watch C sort cutlery with his powers," Herman said, trying to dredge up the memories the captain said should be there.

"Well, that was roughly...twenty minutes ago. So, your motives shall be lost. A pity," the captain said melodramatically.

"Captain…"

"Yes?"

"Next time I try to volunteer for something, don't let me. Now if you excuse me, I need to go hit something," Herman growled, standing and walking out of the lab.

He had training to do.


	20. Chapter 45

Bored.

Bored.

Boooooooooooooooored.

I lean back slightly in my chair as one of Grenzer's commanders- the boring one in the suit- drones on about armaments across the armada and ammunition counts.

A quick glance across the other assembled captains and officers shows that most of the others, save for Jack and Grenzer's own commanders, are equally ill-at-ease. Even the Gears and Rangers, whose ships have rejoined us as we've drawn closer to the Archipelago and whose captains haven't had to put up with this bullshit for as long, look annoyed.

I sigh, and tilt back forwards, catching the eye of Grenzer and most of the other captains as I start tapping my fingers on the table. The bureaucrat stops talking, and Grenzer starts glaring.

"You wish to say something, Yoshimura?" the old man says flatly.

"Yeah, let's lay it on the table. Why're we wasting time with this?" I ask. "Counting weapons and gunpowder and bullets isn't something we need to handle personally."

"Logistics are the foundation of any campaign, Yoshimura," Grenzer growls. Little hint of condescension there, if I'm not mistaken.

I grin. "Yeah, for you, maybe. But you're all about numbers, aren't you? If you've got to plan a police action, or an occupation, with _only_ your own supplies, sure, we'd have to ration the damn bullets. But we're contracted out and we've got a royal and his kingdom's treasury backing us. We shouldn't be personally handling logistics, we should be training to take on whatever's waiting for us!" I stand up, glaring at the old man. "We still don't have the slightest damn idea what's waiting for us, what state the Royal Guard is in, hell, the only map we have doesn't take into account what areas might be under rebel control, and the Marquis hasn't told us _shit._ We can't get info because apparently the Doge locked down all the ports and News Coos once the rebellion started, so we have no idea what we're stepping into. One hundred, two hundred, even your five hundred, they're fodder, against strong fighters on the Grand Line, and you should know that. The real fight is going to be down to the captains and officers, and instead of training for that, we're wasting time with...this." I wave my hands at the bureaucrat, who looks vaguely offended, and take stock of the other captains.

Knutte is leaning forwards, looking approving. Skantarios is impossible to read under his hood, ditto Clare in their armor, but Doppel is smiling thinly. Vinci, too. Grenzer just looks pissed.

"Boy…"

"I'm older than you, human," I hiss, eyes turning black. "Do _not_ patronize me." I meet the eyes of the non-Tercio captains, one by one. Getting their measure. Finally, I turn my gaze back on Grenzer. "I'll follow my captain's orders, and he says we're going to work under you. But I'm done with this nitpicking bullshit. I'm going to go back to the _Ends_ , and train like hell. Anyone who wants to join in and pick up something that'll like as not save their lives, you can come with me."

Vinci nods. Almost invisible, I barely catch it, but I know what it means.

He's planning something.

I turn, and walk out the door, closing the entrance to the meeting room behind me.

* * *

"HRRRAAAAAHHH!"

Herman and the Steel Shield captain were going at it hammer and tongs, Herman for once the smaller one in the fight and forced to actually _dodge_ the much bigger man's axe.

Pravilno just lounged on the quarterdeck and watched. Didn't have a stake in this spar (literally, some of the crew had started betting pools on who'd win what match), and besides, he was on break.

And he'd lost most of his cash betting that C would've taken down that Gear Pirate in armor. Should've known that bronze would've turned out to not be magnetic. She'd beaten the kid down hard with her bare hands and some giant-ass clock hands she'd pulled out of nowhere, and the blood _still_ hadn't been scrubbed out of the deck entirely.

Heh. Between the kid and Kaneki, the deck was going to end up red, no paint required.

He needed a smoke. There was something in the air lately, whenever there was a headwind, like there was at the moment. Freezing cold, even worse than home in the South Blue.

His hands shook slightly as he hauled out the lighter, a bare tremble, but it was there. He controlled it with an effort of will, and grit his teeth around his cigarette.

They'd been shaking since Crucix. Since the captain had hauled him back from the edge of death. Or back over it.

His hands were fast, his aim was still decent...but it wasn't what it'd been before.

And it was getting worse, damn it, despite the training and the pills that should've healed it like they healed everything else.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching the ongoing spar. Herman was faster than his size would indicate, but the same could've been said of Knutte, and the Steel Shield captain had the longer reach with his longaxe than Amakatta could manage.

Herman was keeping ahead, though. Largely, Pravilno figured, because the big guy was fueled by spite and the tears of his opponents.

The headwind blew stronger, and Pravilno shivered, clutching at the worn fabric of his white jacket as if it'd keep the heat in better.

"Not exactly a pleasant place we're headed to, judging from the weather."

Pravilno turned to face Kaneki, who had acquired gloves and a bright red scarf from somewhere, the length of scarlet fabric hiding everything below the lenses of his mask. "Thought you didn't mind the cold," he said.

Kaneki shrugged. "There's something in that headwind I don't like. C, too, even the Oni. It's...off, and not just the cold." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and exhaled, breath misting in the air. "Still. No matter what, we'll have a fight at the end...and I'm getting tired of jerky." The lenses flared red. "You got any plans?"

Pravilno leaned back against the rail, and took a drag on his cigarette. "Don't think we're going to have time for shore leave, boss," he said with his best attempt at a smile. "If the place isn't colder than the South Pole, maybe I'll take a look around. But no plans, not really...heard a lot about the Archipelago, though. Mechanical wonders, the buildings heated from the earth itself, the towers of that giant church they've got...plenty to see and do if we do have the time, I guess."

"Hrm. Five islands linked by bridges and a single Log Pose setting...it's a strange place. Heard their mines pull up all sorts of stuff, too," Kaneki supplied. He held up a hand. "Let's see...they call the place the Spice Archipelago for their mines, still don't get that, but there's the Bronze Spice that Jack says the Marines buy up in huge quantities, Red Spice that they use as a dye or a toxin, Blue Spice that glows and apparently results in agonizing death if you look at it too long and _also_ gets bought by the World Government, White Spice that I'm pretty sure is just another name for Amber Lead...what else…"

"Black Spice," Ostavila said, thumping her way up to the quarterdeck to join them. "They burn it for heat, I hear."

"Heh. Funny, they mine all that and only two and a half of it is actually useful," Kaneki said with a chuckle. "Who wants to bet that the reason there's rebels is because the mines are killing off too many people?"

"Sucker's bet, and you know it," Pravilno said, suddenly feeling weary. "Where's your pack of demons, mate?"

"Belowdecks working on Iron Body. Which mostly entails hitting each other with a chunk of piping," Kaneki said, utterly deadpan. "I'm only up here because they bent it around my head and so gave up on trying to actually inflict lasting damage."

"And I thought you were bad at that," Ostavila said with a smirk.

"Eh. Figured out how to make it click," Kaneki said lightly. He looked over the ship, towards the source of the headwind. "Only a day before we make it there," he said softly. "Who knows what we'll find?"

"So long as it includes loot, drink, and women, I'll be pretty happy," Pravilno said. "You?"

Kaneki was silent for a moment. Then he cracked his knuckles. "Food's out...but I think I'll go looking for that church you mentioned," he said. "Wonder if the people there'll be as accommodating as that monk back on Murky."

"A man can hope, eh?"

"I suppose so."


	21. Chapter 46

C decided he didn't like the Archipelago.

For one, it was _cold._ The island was just starting to come into view, but he could almost make out the ice and snow on the island itself, and the air was absolutely freezing. At least the grey trench coat he'd gotten back at Turtle Bay provided more heat than his normal suit, but still, _breathing_ hurt.

Second was the scent. The smell of harsh, burning smoke seemed to fill the air, just thin enough that he couldn't identify the source. Underlying it was ice...and the strange, brittle scent of frozen blood.

He could see towers filling the skylines of several of the islands, and plumes of smoke. Communal fires? For something like this place, he could understand.

He looked back at the officers and the Oni, all assembled. Brother looked back, and beckoned for C to join him. He hurried over.

"Remember the plan?" Brother asked.

C nodded. It was a simple plan. Which was odd, because the old man had made it and Brother and The Captain said that the old man was complexity-addicted.

"Form up, everyone except Gin and Lauren joins the other officers, we go to the palace and meet the person in charge. The Dog?"

Gin snickered. C did what Pravilno had taught him to do to people who laughed at him, and firmly raised his middle finger at Gin.

"The Doge, C," Brother said. "From there, we'll have to trust Grenzer to take charge and do something useful." He looked towards the islands. "Doesn't look like we'll have that much trouble getting there. No obvious battles…"

"I can still tell there's blood," C said.

"Hmph. Maybe we're too late and it's all over bar the looting."

"That'd be nice," The Captain said. "Get paid to do nothing. But luck is never that good for us, is it?"

"You're being fatalistic today, captain," Herman noted.

"Being near a gigantic island that is filled to the brim with toxic minerals and metals will induce a great degree of fatalism, yes," The Captain said, leaning on the haft of his scythe as he watched the approaching islands. After a moment, he squinted, and rubbed at his eyes, before making an annoyed sound.

"Problem?" Brother asked.

"Nothing. Headache," The Captain said.

"If it's a headache, it ain't nothing," Brother said.

"You know what I meant, Kaneki," The Captain said with a sigh.

"Sure, captain. Just don't have a stroke in the middle of meeting this gilded asshole, alright?"

"I'm not going to- you are just fucking with me, aren't you?"

Brother grinned. "If that's what you think, captain. Right." He turned to the Oni. "Each of you take three guys from the crew, spread out, start figuring out what the hell's going on."

Cousin Eka raised an eyebrow. "You want us to be spies?"

"Nah, just keep an ear to the ground and figure out what this place is actually like."

"We hear ya, boss," Cousin Eka said, the other Oni nodding wordlessly. They were growing ever more quiet. Probably smelled what was in the air.

"Everyone else should be more than enough to handle most people who come to see our ships...and on that note, look at what's approaching."

C looked. It was a very strange ship that approached them, like a fatter, angrier version of the Steel Shield longboats, even though it had oars and sails like the Marquis's galley. It had a prow shaped like a dragon's head...which Brother Kaneki was glaring at for some reason.

"Do you not like lizards, brother?" C asked.

Brother blinked, and shook his head. "Reminded me of something," he said shortly. "Not sure _what_ , exactly…feh. What's that symbol on their sail?"

C squinted at it. It looked like a double-headed weird bird. And the words…

" _Ultimum...Iudex?"_

"The Last Judge. It's Latin," The Captain said, before grinning. "Looks like that's one of the Doge's personal ships. Heh. Seems more a pleasure yacht than anything else, have to wonder where they keep the _real_ warships."

The Captain's grin widened as the oared ship the Marquis was in charge of skittered ahead to meet its larger brother. "Either way, I bet we're going to have an interesting welcome."

* * *

They were going to have to be on the lookout for frostbite casualties, Vinci thought idly as they walked down a near-deserted main street, led by a squad of the Ducal Guard- men in fur-covered armor, anonymous behind squarish fur hats, goggles, and balaclavas.

The entire street seemed...frozen over, icicles hanging from eaves and snowdrifts lining the gutters and alleyways. There were very few people out and about, and most of them...most of them gave wary looks to the column of soldiers, mercenaries, and pirates, as if they expected trouble.

Which, to be fair, was entirely reasonable. They _were_ here to cause trouble for certain people. Hopefully not the normal people, but you never knew.

He glanced over his crew. Kaneki had his scarf and gloves, and seemed happy enough in the same battered and patched jacket he always had. Jack was growing his beard out again, and had donned a khaki double-breasted coat to deal with the cold. Herman dressed the same as always, a looming tower of black furs, armor, and leather that made Vinci question the man's mental stability and/or ability to discern color. As for himself, a fur lining to the old lab coat had been easy enough to sew on, and it was quite comfortable. His own internal improvements to his circulatory system rendered gloves and scarves and the like unnecessary.

The skies were clouded, but it didn't look like it was time for snow yet, he thought, looking upwards. Decent fighting conditions, even if things were a bit dim, the sun hidden behind said clouds. Likely wouldn't stay that way for long, though…

He took a deep breath, relishing the bite of the cold. He had little to no idea of conditions here, still, and he didn't yet have a finger on the pulse of the island chain...but he already could figure some things out.

The Archipelago was five islands, a rough circle of them linked by ancient bridges. But they only had a single Log Pose setting. The reason was simple, once you looked at the shape of the islands, their geological activity, and the actual direction the Pose pointed.

The Archipelago was one island, not five- the five that were above the waves were merely bits of a crater rim or something of a similar construction, like fingertips connected to a hand.

The Archipelago was rich in mineral wealth, and little else. He had little idea how long the Doge had been halting trade, but from what Jack had managed to find out on the voyage (apparently sufficiently large bribes to News Coos could get quite a few things delivered to you, much more than just newspapers) pointed to it not having been long. The Archipelago grew what little food it did in greenhouses, the Winter Island far too cold to support much more than that. With imports _and_ exports cut off by the Doge's decree- probably an attempt to keep word from spreading about the rebels- there'd be bodies in the streets from starvation soon enough, and their absence _now_ was a decent indicator that things hadn't completely fallen apart just yet.

Last of all...well, that was Edwyn Roberts. An enormously rich man, nearly as wealthy as the Ducal family itself, who'd come into his wealth by a combination of capitalistic ruthlessness and ingenuity in mining techniques, ending up controlling four-fifths of the Spice mines in the Archipelago. It was said the man could literally smell the valuable veins of the various kinds of Spice in the Archipelago, and avoid the dangerous, miner-killing ones just as easily. One of the briefings Jack had put together included a picture. The man was a caricature of a rich buffoon, features swollen, a bowler hat and tuxedo-clad fool with black, piggish eyes.

Apparently this rebellion, according to the Marquis, was about Edwyn having objected to a minor tax increase on his holdings and injunctions to reduce the activity of the mines, which had been suffering record losses in miners for months...but that didn't fit at all, unless the pirates he'd hired were so dangerous that they could cow a significant number of the Archipelago's subjects into not resisting in the slightest...because even from here, Vinci could tell the mines were still running. The traces of their operation were in the air itself…

Their party came to a stop, and Vinci shook himself out of his thoughts to stare up at the bulk of the Ducal Palace. It was a massive structure, laced with snow and ice covering the bright gold woven into what looked like the very mortar, the lower half red and the top painted white in imitation of the background of the Ducal flag. Despite that, though, the walls were windowless save for gunports, and off to either side the bulk of towers bulged out from the corners of the walls.

The gates were filigreed iron, pretty- and, if Vinci wasn't mistaken, sturdy enough to resist cannon fire. As they creaked open, he saw murder holes lining the lengthy tunnel that passed under the palace walls, places where guns and boiling oil could make mincemeat of anyone entering.

His grin widened as they walked under, past those silent and menacing defenses, and towards a building that, by contrast to the grim massiveness of the walls, seemed almost normal. Large, yes, and painted and gilded in the same fashion, but...it was only four stories high, and resembled a large manor more than anything else.

As they approached, there was a brassy ring of trumpets, and the doors of the manor opened, as a crowd of Ducal Guard and various people in fancy clothing walked out, spreading out to either side in a choreographed fashion.

Well.

It was time to meet the Doge, then.


	22. Chapter 47

I'm not sure what I expected when the Doge started walking out and the Marquis started yammering.

"Doge of the Spice Archipelago, Lord of Sea and Ice and Land, Protector of the Realm-"

An old man, ineffectual, bowed down by his power. A fat fool, swollen with the same. An imbecile or a madman, a Caligula in furs.

"-Head of the Ducal Council, Keyholder of the Armories, Keeper of the Histories, Anointed of-" _THWACK._

I _was not_ expecting a seven-foot-tall, scarlet-haired, red-bearded, and heavily muscled man to literally throw his scepter at the Marquis, knocking the man unconscious mid-sentence, before striding forward to meet Grenzer with a beaming smile.

"So you're the mercenaries, then," the Doge says, never losing the smile.

"So you're the ruler, then," Vinci mutters, barely on the edge of hearing, and I smile behind my scarf.

There's a zipping sound from off to the right, and I glance over to see that Maurice the loudmouth has had the entire lower half of his head covered in duct tape. The bureaucrat officer- Gabriel? - is holding a slightly smoking cardboard roll. The bespectacled man meets my eyes and gives me a slight nod.

Heh. Guess he's not so bad, when he's not giving boring briefings.

Grenzer and the Doge are still talking, but now they're walking off...guess I'll follow. Don't particularly care what's being said, honestly- the few snatches I get are bits of flattery and political bullshit. Not that important yet, and judging from Jack's 'pay no attention to my obvious eavesdropping' expression, I'm going to get what I need to know told to me later anyway.

There's Ducal Guard on all sides, lining the walls like suits of armor. Interspersed with _actual_ suits of armor as well. The place looks like something Louis XVI would shake his head at the excess of, I think even the _wallpaper_ is lined with gold foil tracing along the designs of vines and flowers. Also, I'm pretty sure we're gradually sinking into the carpeting. I look down...yep, that stuff's ankle deep at the minimum.

I'm not sure if it's the soldiers or just the fact that this place doesn't look quite _real_ , but it's setting me on edge. I can feel my tails twisting under my skin, wanting to be unleashed, and I force the urge down as our party approaches a pair of wooden doors. Simple ones, ungilded.

The door opens at the Doge's push, and our party shuffles in. Smoke fills the air, the smell of tobacco omnipresent. There's four men already there, sitting around the round table that dominates the room, and as I watch one of them- a short and pudgy fellow in blue pinstripes and a cigar clamped in a wide-toothed grin- sweeps a deck of cards back together, stashing it in some pocket.

There's only six empty seats at the table. One, the Doge takes, before motioning for others to sit.

There's a moment of consideration before each of the captains pulls out a chair and sits. I stand at Vinci's right, watching the three who were already here.

Pudgy one in blue, smile never wavering as he looks over us with empty eyes. A tall, lanky man, skeletally thin, in a red pinstripe suit, who seems more amused by us than anything, smoking a cigarette. A heavily built man with a uniform full of medals and bling, who looks about ready to keel over at any moment. Not from age, but from what I'm fairly certain is a long love affair with whatever local equivalent of the Big Mac exists. The fourth would be completely unremarkable as a human being were it not for the goatlike horns poking out of his forehead. He gives me a challenging look, and I smile. After a moment, he returns it.

"Gentlemen." He nods to the armored Gear Pirate. "And lady."

Wait, she's a- huh. You'd think I'd notice that, but all I can smell from her is copper and oil, no trace of pheromones.

"My apologies for the secrecy. The Marquis is an extremely effective man when it comes to convincing people to work for me, but he is...less than open with his information, as I'm sure you've noticed."

There's a soft ripple of chuckles from the assembled pirates.

"Well. Now that he's actually assembled you all here, I can finally begin giving you some decent information about exactly _why_ you've been hired. Khazrak, the files."

The horned man tosses down a pile of manila folders.

"Edwyn Roberts...well, I think you all know enough about him. I, like many rulers, have a few friends in the World Government. Enough that when it was discovered that the magnate was starting to plot to usurp my throne...well, I had to take action. He began hiring mercenaries and arming people he trusted in secret- I rallied the Ducal Guard, cut off his supply of arms, and sent the Marquis to hire whoever he could rally to supplement my forces. General Haig?"

The coronary-ready man clears his throat. "Er, yes. The rebels control two of the five islands, though they haven't dared push into civilized territory just yet, cowardly buggers. Both of the islands were almost all covered in mines Roberts owned anyway, so good riddance to that lot. Anyone who goes near might lose their head, mind, but with your boys helping ours I'm sure we can crush them."

"You're an idiot," Grenzer growls as he puts the files he's been reading down.

"Excuse me, sir?! I shall-"

"Shut up."

I see Vinci grin out of the corner of my eye as Grenzer leans forwards, putting his elbows on the table. "Have you even looked at this list of who this fat sack of shit has hired?" Grenzer growls. "Because I have. The Shell King Pirates, led by 'One Punch' Xio and 'Poison Spear' Jizhu, 87 and 65 million. The Poison Fang Pirates, 'Acid Breath' Vehrlovoss, 36 million. A full battalion of the Kreiger Mercenary Group...and the Black Beard Pirates-"

Wait, _what._ I take a step back, trying to think- How the _fuck_ is Blackbeard here? Why would he even be-

"-led by 'Black Beard' Villos, and 'Black Feather' Grackle, 75 and 47 million. That is some _serious_ firepower we're expected to counter."

Oh thank god, it's not the giant hippo asshole.

"Don't sweat it, old guy," the short guy in blue pinstripes says. "You're just here to help us out. Can't exactly cover all the bases, just the two of us, dontcha know."

"And you are?" my captain asks as he watches the two intently.

"Aw, we aren't famous?" the tall one in red asks. "Such a pity."

"I'm Tristo," the short one says.

"I'm Amico," the tall one calls.

"We're the Boondocks Brothers, and we work nights," they say at the same time.

I struggle not to raise my eyebrows as Tristo chuckles.

"Alright, seriously kid-"

Vinci almost visibly twitches.

"-we'll be handling a good chunk of trouble, dontcha know. Isn't much different from the usual work old Goldy here usually gives us. And I suppose those guys in armor'll be of help."

I _do_ raise my eyebrows at that. Considering what I saw of the Guard...well, they'd probably make good bullet shields.

The Doge claps his hands. "Well! I'm sure you all have a _great_ _deal_ to discuss, but I must be going. Come to me if you require anything of importance, but I trust in your ability to manage this internal struggle without my...dubious input. General Haig here shall inform you of what assets will need protecting immediately."

Wait…

Wait.

This is another fucking meeting.

About _pointless shit_.

 _Again._

Internal screaming, commence!


	23. Chapter 48

"A party," I say, voice dead, deadened further by the walls of _Ends Justified_ 's ready room. "He's throwing some giant gala, when there's open war about to break out?"

" _And_ Grenzer tapped us for the security," Vinci confirms, looking annoyed. "Granted, we've got the Ducal Guard and the other mercenaries watching the bridges from the rebel islands and most of the streets outside, but internal security is our lot."

"Why the hell-"

"Because the Doge isn't an absolute monarch," Jack rumbles. "There's a council he's head of, a parliament that normally runs the country. Nobles. Rich. And they need to be convinced the Doge is strong enough to deal with the rebels...and that things will remain 'business as usual'. Failing that, we've got to scare them enough to think that supporting our side is better than going over to Roberts."

"Okay, scaring the shit out of people is kinda our thing, I'll admit. How long do we have before this thing kicks off?" I ask.

"Three days," Vinci says. "Also, hope you don't mind a suit. We're supposed to blend in unless things go completely to shit." He looks me over, and I fold my arms defensively.

"The Doge better be fucking paying if he's going to have me in a monkey suit," I growl.

"Dahahahahaha! Don't worry, that's already taken care of. You've got an appointment with the tailor tomorrow."

"And the rest of the crew?"

"They'll have to make do with off-the-rack purchases. Helps we already have their sizes."

"Hrrm. You need my input on planning, or not?"

Vinci just grins. "I think if I tried to put you through another meeting we'd have to find a new first mate."

"You mean a new captain."

"Don't get too big for your britches, first mate."

We grin at each other for a moment, and Jack buries his head in his hands.

"You'll have to be in charge of the mess, though," Vinci says lightly.

"What," I growl.

"Me, Jack, Herman, and half the crew are stuck watching the bridges. Look. Don't worry too much about it- anyone trying to sneak through or attack'll have to get through us anyway. You've got C, Gin, Lauren, the Oni, and twenty guys to back you up, anyway."

I sigh. "Guess that means I _do_ need to stay and plan this. I'm getting tired of meetings, captain."

"I know. But you have ideas?"

"...I'll need a floor plan, a guest list, and a lot of coffee."

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

C was feeling...well, he wasn't sure.

He thought it was annoyed. It was _very_ cold where he was perched, now that the sun had gone down. Even with his little nook in the rooftop- among the gargoyles that decorated this place, jishakukuku- the wind still tore at him, made worse by the fact he was taking the brunt of it. A deliberate choice, to let his nose work, but still...very annoying. And worst of all he couldn't cover his nose, because it was what would give everyone inside the early warning they needed if they were attacked!

"Falcon to Vulture, checking in," Lauren's voice came in over the tiny baby snail tucked securely inside C's coat pocket, away from the freezing wind.

Well, at least he wasn't suffering alone. Lauren was up here too, and though she was on the lee side of the building, she didn't have his resistance to cold, being only human.

Well. Maybe he shouldn't say only. He was...fairly sure Ostavila was human, and she'd beaten him up even after he'd managed to stop some of her weapons. Some. He still needed to get better at moving more than one thing at once.

"Vulture? You there?"

Oh. Right. He had to talk back.

"Vulture here," he said quietly. "All smells quiet. You?"

"Clear scopes, Vulture. Keep an eye out."

"Yeah, yeah."

He almost wished someone would try and attack.

Wait…

He sniffed at the air, the mingled scents of a sleeping city, and snarled before yanking a small telescope out, spotting the black-clad shapes, dark against the night, instantly.

He'd been joking damn it!

"Falcon to Vulture. Saw something...ah fuck, that's a lot of bad guys. Looks like the Black Beards are coming out to play. How the hell did they-"

"Got a bunch on my side as well," he said. "I count sixty. You?"

"About the same, Vulture."

There was a muffled _thump_ from the other end of the rooftop. "One down. Call it in to Mother Hen, then start thinning them out."

He nodded, and tapped the snail, connecting it to Brother's. "Vulture to Mother Hen. Black Beards are heading in, entire crew looks like. Prepare for party crashers."

Brother said several words C was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to repeat before shutting off the connection. C shoved the telescope back into his coat before pulling a strange left-handed gauntlet from another pocket and putting it on. It incorporated a sight along his forearm, distances noted and marked out on the scope. Lauren had helped him with it. From another pocket, he took a ball bearing, holding it between the index and middle finger of his left hand.

Sight. Aim at the target, a moving patch of black, the glint of a sword barely visible. A bit higher…

" _Lorentz Sabot,_ " he whispered, as he _pushed_ the ball bearing forwards as hard as he could.

There was a sharp _crack_ and the man's head exploded, his body tumbling off the rooftop he'd been running on and down to the street below.

One down, fifty-nine to go.

…

He was going to need more ball bearings.

* * *

The party was still going on. High society in all their glitz and glamour and pompous bullshit.

Ostavila kept the sneer off her face like she did all other expression as she moved past the edges of the crowd, grateful that she hadn't been forced into a dress and instead got to wear the same black suit and tie the rest of the crew did.

The Nightmares lined the edges of the gathering, around the pillars that lined the massive ballroom. Whatever this building was, it was ridiculous. The ballroom alone would've made it a major attraction anywhere else, but this was just one small part of the building. Some ancestor of the current Doge had had it built, apparently.

Either way, fancy or not, it was going to be a battleground soon. She could see Kaneki stepping up onto a table, getting everyone's attention and starting some spiel about an event elsewhere in the building, would everyone please go there and enjoy themselves, after all the acoustics are better there, ha ha ha. The crowd of rich people began to gravitate towards the exits. She tuned it out in favor of approaching her usual partner.

Pravilno looked like he hadn't slept, leaning in the shadow of one of the ballroom's fancy columns, smoking a cigarette. He glared at her. She glared back, and he sighed.

"The hell do you want?"

"Hands," she ordered crisply.

He froze. Then he dropped his cigarette to the tile, crushing it under a boot without looking at it, before shoving out his hands.

They trembled. Barely. Her glare intensified. "You're going to talk to the captain, after this," she said.

"Fuck no. He's got more important things to handle. And-"

"And?"

He looked away, all the cocky gangster swagger he'd affected for the months she'd known him suddenly gone. "And he might get pissed if I imply he didn't do a good enough job."

"Our captain? He'd probably take it as an opportunity to improve his work. And-or give you new hands." She punched him in the shoulder softly. "Woman up. We've got a trap to spring."

She looked towards the rooftops as the soft sound of suppressed gunfire rang out.

Kaneki wasn't a strategic genius. But he'd still known enough to figure out that there wasn't anything they could do to really stop a full-on attack, not without collateral damage.

But a trap, with no soft civvies in the way and the enemy coming in right where they wanted?

That changed things quite a bit.

* * *

Arnyek Rantas was not having a good time.

For one, the captain had been hired by some rich asshole to back up the pack of half-starved backwater inbreds who called themselves an 'army of Revolution'. Which meant a lot of trouble and having to bail out said inbreds, naturally. Troublesome.

And then they got told- _told_ , not asked- to sneak across the bridges, spend three days shivering and hiding from the Ducal Guard, all so they could attack some other rich asshole's party. Even more troublesome.

Now, and most troublesome of all, was the fact that apparently the rich assholes (the ones in the party, not the one who hired the captain and crew) had had the two brain cells required to hire guards. Specifically, god-damned snipers, who had already taken down half a dozen men before the others got to cover.

He certainly wasn't going to peek out from the fence he was hiding behind and find out where on that lit-up fancy building said snipers were perched, either. Hmm.

He looked at the man huddled next to him, who was trying very hard to remain unnoticed, and smiled before grabbing the man by the collar.

"Boss, wait-"

He shoved the man up against the fence, head in clear view, and just barely peeked his own head out to the side, watching the rooftops of the big central building.

At the same moment there was a sharp _crack_ and the man in his hand went limp, there was, for the briefest of moments, a flash of crackling blue light. That was all it took.

Rantas used his powers, and _pulled_ the sniper forwards with all his might.

A blur of grey streaked overhead and slammed into the building behind him, blowing a hole through the wall. Rantas smiled, and then glared at the few other crew members in sight. "Get fucking moving and go do your job," he said.

They ran, the pissants.

Rubble cracked behind him. Rantas turned.

"Still alive, huh?" he asked, still smiling. His opponent, a tall, bald guy in a tattered trench coat and a skull-like mask, just cracked his knuckles.

"I'll see what I can do to fix that," Rantas said.

* * *

In retrospect, Gin figured, having an evacuation plan for the party that didn't sound like an evacuation plan wasn't all that bad an idea after all. It got all the high-society idiots out of the way safely without making them all that afraid, and out from under the _fucking gigantic glass ceiling_ that this particular ballroom had.

At least he, and the rest of the crew, were off to the side, safely out of the way of any falling shards, and this ceiling was the only entry point...one that required breaking through C and Lauren's guard.

But now there were black-clad shapes crawling over the glass, and the sound of gunfire seemed muffled.

He hoped both of them were still alive- C was hard to kill anyway- but...well, hope in one hand, shit in the other.

The crew, Oni and 'normal' alike, was ranged out on the edges of the room, the entire place darkened, all the lamps put out. Only one moon, a full one, was out tonight, which made the light relatively weak, scattering faint rectangles over the tiled floor.

Gin began to spin his tonfa slowly, watching the ceiling. Some of the giant panes were beginning to crack as the pirates above hammered away. Several others were untouched as the pirates congregated on them instead.

He smiled, and kept up the rotation, gradually building speed. Couldn't quite manage Tempest Kick with his legs or with his tonfa, not yet, but that wasn't his job…

"One tail, two tail, three tail, four _...Breath of the Dragon."_

Four powerful slashes of wind from Kaneki's tails slammed into the laden glass panes. With so many pirates piled on top, that was all it took, and the panes gave way with a crash, sending sixty-plus pirates tumbling to the floor below in a shower of glass.

Some landed on their feet, including two who didn't seem fazed at all by the drop. Others didn't.

He ran a count. Thirty down, dead or just trying to figure out what to do with their compound fractures. About the same still alive and looking around, peering into the shadows. They all seemed dressed alike, like stereotypical ninja in all-concealing black clothing. Sloppy. Black was horrible for stealth.

Two that looked like officers. One looked almost like a less happy version of Kaneki, black clothes, black hair that framed his face, and a mournful expression on his sharp features.

The other resembled an angry walking shrubbery thanks to the gigantic beard that dominated his rotund form.

Gin grinned.

Seven sets of eyes blazed red in the darkness.

All hell broke loose.


	24. Chapter 49

Lauren was _pissed._ For one, keeping her footing on the crenellations and assorted fancy bits of the rooftop, icy as they were, was a pain.

For another...well…

"Ma'am, if you would be so kind as to leave cover, we could conclude our business quite swiftly."

Apparently the Black Beards had someone who was nearly as good with a gun as she was. Cold-blooded prick had nearly taken her head off with a shotgun blast- a couple pellets had grazed her face, and she knew her cheek would scar- before she'd managed to find some cover and hunker down.

She could hear the rest of the Black Beards clambering about on the roof, and the little cracking noises as they began to break through the glass, but it didn't matter. Kaneki and the Oni would take care of that. _Her_ problem was the asshole who she had to get a bead on before he found her hiding spot…

Wait, what was she thinking?

She had grenades.

Moving as quietly as she could manage, she reached into the pockets of her coat, pulling free a smooth cylinder with an orange band wrapped around it. Flashbangs. Couldn't use the gas, the others below hadn't brought masks- well, save for the Oni, but what they were huffing was far worse than the gas _anyway_ \- so that meant misdirection. And/or blinding the bastard.

"Ma'am? This sort of silence is most impolite."

She pulled the pin and tossed the grenade over the piece of masonry that was serving as cover- some rich asshole's statue or something.

The instant it cleared the side of the statue, a hammer of sound and air smashed her down, her ears ringing as she gasped for air. Fuck, he'd been faster than she thought...

She got to her feet just as the bastard rounded the statue. Fancy dress, round little spectacles, bored expression, shotgun in his hands. She Shaved to the side, barely avoiding the spread of buckshot, and yanked out her lever-action carbines, firing both. Fancy Pants went down on his ass as two .50 caliber slugs slammed into his chest, and she paused, watching him.

That was when a second bullet nearly took her head off, only another Shave saving her.

She looked down. And then at the roof she'd just Shaved off of by accident.

Ohshitohshit _MoonWalkMoonWalk!_

She grabbed hold of a gargoyle as her hasty technique barely kept her from dropping, and clung to the lower jaw with both hands as she tried to catch her breath and let the ringing in her ears fade enough to hear.

"Oh, dear, that must have hurt," a female voice said from above.

"Nowhere near as much as the thought of being without you, my love," Fancy Pants's voice answered.

She would have gagged if it didn't risk loosening her grip on the gargoyle.

"Besides, her bullets could not penetrate this suit. Spider-woven silk is a wonderful choice of garment."

Motherfucker, was everyone she fought going to be bullet-proof?

And now there were two gun-wielding assholes up there, both of them good at their job, and she couldn't guarantee a headshot on one or both without being filled full of lead herself.

Fuck.

Okay, this was going to suck.

She pulled herself up slowly, until she was at a point where she could swing a leg over the gargoyle's neck and actually sit. She needed hands free for this.

She took out a small syringe, wrapped up in a bright red tin case. Inside the syringe itself, blue light flickered and sparked.

"Sorry captain," she murmured. "Really hate to use this now, but don't have a choice."

* * *

C did not like this person.

For one, he had weird powers, which he'd used to throw C into a building and was now using to _annoy him with debris._ He _liked_ this suit, and now it was being ruined. There was also the small matter of his kneecaps being missing, carried away by a chunk of flying debris, but those would grow back soon enough. Clothing wouldn't grow back.

Second thing about this person that annoyed him: the guy's nose. It looked like someone had stuck a needle on his face. Seriously, what kind of human being had that kind of facial deformity?

* * *

Elsewhere in Paradise, two pirates and a CP9 agent sneezed simultaneously.

* * *

Lastly…

"Come on. Is that all you have?"

This person _would not shut up._

C got back to his feet as his kneecaps reknit, and pulled hard at the few pieces of metal that hadn't been buried into the ground by the asshole already, sending them hurtling at the needle-nosed dick.

" _Graviton."_

And just like everything else, the dick and his weird powers shoved them straight down into the ground.

"Do you at least understand the gravity of the situation? You dare face me, Arnyek Rantas, third mate of the Black Beard Pirates, wielder of the Pull-Pull Fruit? I am-"

"Annoying? Stupid? Possessed of a very strange nose?"

The annoying man's eye twitched and several veins bulged. " _Coup. De. Grace."_

C's feet left the ground as the man's power yanked him forwards, right onto the man's sword.

Which snapped off at the hilt as it came into contact with C's skin.

C's hands snapped out, grabbing the man's shoulders in a crushing grip.

He grinned, bit, and _tore_.

The man's struggles ceased by the third bite.

Once he was done, C got to his feet. A great number of pirates had made it through.

He still had hunting to do.

* * *

Oni, Gin was realizing, were very different people once they started actually fighting people who weren't officers or other Oni.

Against officers or each other, weapons came out, matching blade against club against spear against brass knuckles. It looked almost normal, even if it was sped up and the clashes of weapon against weapon rattled his bones.

Against enemy pirates...they didn't even bother.

All of them had simply Shaved into the mass of Black Beards, grabbed someone by the ankles or arm or head, and started beating motherfuckers with other motherfuckers. Kaneki and the guy who was ninety percent beard were off somewhere else, far enough they weren't his concern.

He barely deflected another pair of thrown knives, and angrily reminded himself to focus on the person who was.

" _Hellion!"_ he shouted as he rushed forwards and slammed one of his tonfas into the man who bore an astonishing resemblance to Kaneki. The bastard caught it on crossed knife blades, even as the strike itself made him stagger. Gin almost pressed the attack again, but another thrown knife that passed millimeters in front of his eyes made him step back, giving the black-clad pirate a chance to recover again. Gin steadied himself, keeping his tonfa spinning.

"You are a formidable opponent," emo-Kaneki said slowly.

"I take my vitamins."

"Hmmm. Nobody has ever managed to deflect my blades like that. Yes, I think this will be-"

Gin blinked as a flying body slammed the man away mid-sentence, sending him into a wall, which cracked slightly. Eka walked over, the heavyset Oni cracking his knuckles. "Sorry, mate, couldn't resist," he said with a sheepish smile.

"You notice how he looks a lot like our first mate?" Gin asked.

"The one that's been running us till we drop as training and looking happy about it? Oh, yes," Eka said with a sharp smile.

Gin smiled back. "Want to get some catharsis?"

"Oh, _yes._ "

The poor bastard who had no idea what was coming struggled back to his feet, knives in hand. "Two of you now? No matter. I am Grackle, first mate of the Black Beard Pirates, worth sixteen million. I will not fall to two no-name rookies."

Gin didn't answer. He just Shaved forwards, tonfa swinging, as Eka did the same with his dao.

* * *

"Okay, seriously," I say as I Shave to the side to dodge another punch from the beard-man's hamhock-sized fist. "How the _hell_ does that thing not catch everything? Crumbs, drinks, random objects, small children? For god's sake, how do you avoid tripping on the damn thing?"

"YOU UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE BEARD,"- oh shit it's another Maurice, god damn it why did I provoke him into opening his mouth- "YOU FOOLISH WHELP! YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF FACING THE MIGHT OF MY FOLLICLES! I, VILLOS, CAPTAIN OF THE BLACK BEARD PIRATES, SHALL CRUSH YOU WITH BUT THE SLIGHTEST EXERTION OF MY POWER!"

Okay, now he just sounds like a hairier Terry Crews. I dodge another blow, still grinning as I slip on my mask. I dropped the tails after shattering the glass panes, and I don't think he's realized who he's fighting. If he did, he certainly wouldn't be throwing his meat at- okay no, no, purge that mental image _immediately._

"TAKE THIS! ANDROGEN RUSH!"

Wait, why the fuck would he name an attack after a hormone- ShaveShave _Shave!_

The flurry of punches is _much_ faster than his previous attacks, and only getting faster even as I frantically dodge what's being thrown at me, backpedaling all the while. Finally one moves just a hair too quickly for me to handle, catching me in the chest. I feel ribs crack as I'm hurled backwards, slamming into a stone wall, and I spit blood as I fall to the floor in a crouch.

I hear a hissing noise and realize it's me. I cough up a bit more blood before looking up at Villos and _grinning._

"You're _fun_ ," I say, pushing a levity into my voice I don't feel. "Not worthy, you're saying? Kyakahahahahahaha…. _one tail, two tail, three tail, four."_

My tails lash at the air, and Villos takes a step back before smiling widely. "So it is true…" he says, mercifully quietly. "Well, then...THIS SHALL BE A BATTLE FOR THE AGES!"

What the hell is he- is his beard _moving?_

"WITNESS MY TRUE POWER! THE BEARD-BEARD FRUIT!"

Bwuh?

The entire room freezes. I see Gin and Eka actually stumble mid-stride, and the guy who looks oddly similar to me stop as well, before facepalming.

That's when the lightning hits.


	25. Christmas Omake

Merry Christmas, everyone.

* * *

The air feels...frozen.

Moreso than usual, heh.

Why the hell was I told to watch the river today?

Oh, right. Because after scaring the shit out of that one bard the captain wants me out of the public eye. Fair enough, I suppose. 'Demons' don't make for good PR and we need everything we can get ahold of with the public these days, if only to keep the poor bastards from defecting.

I take a breath, ignoring the bite of the cold, and sniff at the air. Clear and icy, not a hint of anyone on the stretch I've been told to watch. No, wait…

My tails burst free and wave in the frozen air as I scent a small group on the opposite side, drawing closer. An attack? Over the river...well, the place is frozen, it makes sense, of a sort…and is probably smarter than trying for a bridge, what with how Vinci and Lauren's more... _enthusiastic_ experiments in explosives have been rigged to send those tumbling if an assault was made…

But this doesn't seem like a proper attack. Not enough people, I can only pick up half a dozen separate scents…

I lunge forwards, feet digging through the snow- and then the ice as I hit the river- and propelling me forwards at speeds just shy of a Shave. I land just shy of the group, bleeding momentum by falling into a crouching position. They halt, trying to back away, and I take in their look. Not pirates. No crew marks, their clothing is heavily patched stuff that looks…

Oh hell, it's some of their bargain-basement Revolutionaries, some of the miners Roberts has conscripted into his little temper tantrum. Killing them would just be...not _right._

They look at me with wide eyes as I straighten.

"What the hell are you lot doing out?" I say, as evenly as possible. "If you're trying to sneak across, you picked the wrong place."

"W-w-w-w-we-" one of them stammers, looking near to pissing himself. I sigh, and point at one of the six who doesn't quite seem paralyzed by my mere present. "You. Explanation. Now."

The chosen miner, a burly guy with a beard that rivals that fucker from the Great Ballroom Charlie Foxtrot, blinks. "Mister Butcher Bird...don't you know what day it is?"

"Friday," I say. "If you want to go drinking, stay on your damn island. Don't need to waste bullets on you lot."

There's a murmur from the other miners, and the spokesman I've picked out looks surprised. "Um...it's Christmas, sir."

The fuck?

The miner takes my silence for an invitation to keep speaking. "It's a holiday, sir, where we-"

"I know what Christmas is," I say. "Give me a second."

I run through the dates in my head, tails retracting as I think it over. Fuck, how the hell had I...dammit, _how did I miss the damn holiday?_

After a moment, I shake my head. "Alright. I suppose you're here for a truce of some kind? Break bread with the enemy? Kinda expected more of you."

"We were the only ones willing to try...most everyone else thinks we'd be shot on sight or something, they didn't want to go."

"Right. Follow me, keep behind me, and that won't happen." I look over them again. No weapons, though a few of them are carrying bags and boxes. Another sniff at the air...no scent of gunpowder or blades...but I do smell baked goods. Hm. Makes me wish I could actually eat normal food, almost, if it meant I could get ahold of what smells like cinnamon rolls…

"Sir? Are you-"

"I'm fine," I say flatly, with a shake of my head. "Let's go."

* * *

"Kaneki, am I drunk?"

"No, captain," Vinci's first mate replied humorlessly.

"I think I should be," Vinci said as he watched Edwyn Roberts- _the man whose head was worth six hundred million_ \- mingling with _his_ crew, as if he didn't care at all about the possibility of assassination.

"How the hell did this happen?"

"Christmas truce," Kaneki said. "Things... escalated from there. I think there's a party going on now?"

"You _think?"_

"Well, someone brought enough alcohol to float the entire Archipelago so if it wasn't before it started being one shortly thereafter."

"Huh." Vinci stared at the crowd of people who on any other day would be trying very hard to kill each other for a moment longer.

Then he smiled. "You know, I did remember to get you something," he said to Kaneki.

"If it's lethal I'm going to punt you through the hospital," Kaneki said dourly.

"Cheer up, Kaneki. For one day, you don't have to worry about anything."

Kaneki chuckled, and smiled back, thin as it was. "Maybe so, captain. Still can't shake the feeling something's off. And I'm not a fan of...all this." He nodded at the party.

That didn't make much sense...granted, Kaneki wasn't the most social of people, but it wasn't like he had an aversion to- oh. It'd been a week or two since he'd last fed, hadn't it, with all the chaos and the constant presence of people who _weren't_ crew and wouldn't be nearly as understanding. No wonder he was on edge.

Vinci shrugged. "Head back to the ship if you feel the need. I can handle things here."

"You sure?"

"Very much so, Kaneki. Go."

As Kaneki headed off, Vinci considered the crowd, tapping his fingers on the haft of his scythe. Six hundred million and an end to this war, right there, completely off guard…

No. Not on Christmas, of all days.

They'd go back to trying to kill each other tomorrow.

* * *

Herman preferred sleeping on the _Ends_. Even with the lengthy walk from the ship's berth to whatever guard posts they got assigned, it was still better than sleeping in a barracks or anywhere near one of the Doge's places.

 _Ends_ was much more secure. And much quieter. He knew every sound and scent on it, and none of them were out of place.

So, overall, he was very surprised to be woken up by the sound of Kaneki swearing.

He rolled out of his bunk, Amakatta already in hand, and stalked out of his cabin onto the deck.

He stopped, gaping.

Someone had turned the deck of their vessel into a fucking Christmas theme park. Without, apparently, making a single out-of-place sound. The mainmast was covered in winding garlands, the rigging had tinsel and ornaments all over, and the deck around the mainmast and the rooms around it...was practically covered in packages covered in bright wrapping paper.

Herman's jaw dropped as Kaneki appeared on the quarterdeck, now silent, holding a single package in his hands. "Either the captain did this, or Santa Claus is real," the ghoul said, reading the tag on the present. " _Kaneki- Good is something you strive for, not something you are. Merry Christmas._

They shared a look.

"Captain's fucking with us?" Kaneki asked.

"Captain's fucking with us."


	26. Chapter 50

The world was frozen.

Lauren looked up, the motion harder than it should've been, the air pushing back against her. She could see the tracery of a lightning bolt overhead, crawling through the air towards the lightning rods installed on the building.

She only had moments- it was already getting hard to breathe. She gathered herself up, and jumped. In a moment she was back on the rooftop, moving towards the still forms of the dandy and his overly-dressed sweetheart. Black tux and black cocktail dress. What a pair.

Bullets would take too long to crawl out of their barrels. And her lungs were starting to burn as she walked towards the pair.

She slipped her hatchet out of a belt loop.

One swing. Two.

That little bit of exertion was almost more than she could bear. Her hands scrabbled through her coat, reaching for the counteragent the Captain had concocted for her. The hypodermic hissed as she jabbed it into her thigh, and the world-

 _-snapped-_

-back into motion as she collapsed, feeling like she'd been forced to practice Iron Body for hours. _Everything_ hurt.

"Holy shit what the hell? Who did this?"

Oh. There were more pirates on the roof, ones she couldn't even crane her neck to see from her position flat on her back. Goody. She tried to reach for her gun, but her muscles apparently didn't want to cooperate.

"Look, it's that pirate bitch!"

Oh _hell_.

"Let's-"

 _Crack crack crack crack crack._

The thumps of several bodies hitting the dirt seemed like a good thing. She heard crunching footsteps, and then some distinctly _wrong_ sorts of crunching.

Okay, maybe not.

There was the distinct noise of swallowing, and then C walked into view. The bottom half of his mask was practically solid red.

"Need a hand?"

Lauren just glared at the creepy little fucker.

* * *

I'm fairly certain I know how annoying it is to fight me, now.

Because dodging and cutting through the near-literal forest of hair-based tentacles is getting _really fucking old._

I don't know how to others are coping. If they're smart, they've run and let me handle it. Can't even _see_ anything beyond the thicket of beard.

When the hell did my life become a comedy? Or just become utterly insane?

Oh, right. Probably around the time I decided following the obviously batshit insane pirate doctor was a good idea.

On that note…

"SURRENDER TO THE POWER OF MY FOLLICLES!"

"Right," I grumble, drawing my tails in close. "It's time for a shave! _Draconic Twister!"_

The accumulated wind blades lash out in all directions, tearing the thicket of hair to shreds, and I jump back as tendrils of the stuff stab towards where I'd been standing.

I can't see him, but the reverse is true as well. He only knows where I am when I cut at his hair, and he can't _quite_ react fast enough to catch me lethally.

I sniff at the air, trying to figure out where he is as I cut out again and leap through the air, free of the thicket. The hall's deserted, only the unmoving bodies of Black Beard pirates present. Good. Means I've got space to _work._

The man's beard covers half the hall, still moving faintly, his body hidden behind a wall of hair. Can't figure out where he is...hrrmph.

"YOU THINK YOU HAVE ESCAPED ME? NONE SHALL EVADE MY WRATH! _GOATEE GOLEM!"_

Wait, what the fuck is he-?

I stare as the beard-forest condenses itself into _limbs_ , forming what is unmistakably a humanoid body...with the bearded bastard himself forming the head.

The head…

I grin, and run.

"YES! FLEE BEFORE MY GLORIOUS MAJESTY!"

A running leap takes me a third of the way up one of the pillars. My tails propel me across the room to the opposite one, and again and again as the golem of hair takes its first few steps forwards.

It raises an arm to swat me from the sky, but even as poor as I am at Moon Walk, the creation is ponderous enough I can dodge easily, jumping off the air and directly at the man himself.

I grin. " _Scaled Cross!"_

I hit the floor around the same time the man's head does, two tails slick with blood.

* * *

Grackle was beginning to regret his choice of occupation.

"Make it as a pirate, they said," he grumbled as he ran through the far-too-narrow hallways as fast as he could manage. "Plenty of loot, they said. Now everyone's fucking dead and the Captain's fighting a cannibal monster. _Black Talons!"_ He spun on his heel, hurling a half-dozen blades back at his pursuers, only to snarl in frustration as _again_ they were all deflected or dodged by the two Nightmares.

At least the captain would crush that damned Butcher Bird quickly enough. And if he could just get _outside_ , he could-

A window!

It was a bloody big thing and he didn't have the time to break it with whatever he could find. This was going to _hurt…_

Probably less than that spindly fucker's tonfas, though.

He grit his teeth and put on a fresh burst of speed, accelerating even faster than the running pace that had kept him ahead of whatever technique they were using to seemingly _teleport_ after him, and jumped.

The window shattered, and despite him covering his head with his arms a shard of glass sliced across his cheek and ear, living stinging pain in its wake. No time to deal with it- he hit the ground, rolled, and sprang back up. If he could just make it back to-

 _Crack._

Grackle fell to the ground as his knee turned into a symphony of pain, worse than anything he'd ever felt before. He couldn't even _breathe_ , the white-hot _hole_ in his leg blocking out everything else as he curled up into a fetal position, clutching at the bloodied remnants of his knee cap.

There was a thump, and then a weight on his back, and then _oh god teeth in his shoulder, biting and tearing and-_

"C! We need him alive."

The weight and the _teeth_ vanished, and Grackle let out a sob of relief.

Someone put pressure on the ruins of his shoulder, and that last spike of pain was enough. Grackle slipped gratefully into unconsciousness.

* * *

I'm tired.

Fuck, _everyone's_ tired. Between the actual fight, the relentless grilling for details Grenzer and his officers put us through that they had the gall to call a 'debriefing', hauling off that one guy who half the crew has started calling 'Kan-edgy' thanks to his resemblance to me to be interrogated, and the Doge giving personal thanks for handling things...well, hardly quietly, but with a minimum of fuss and with the heads of most of the Black Beard Pirates on stakes to show off to the nobles and rich assholes as a sign of strength...between all that, even I'm pretty much running on empty. All I want, as I stumble into my cabin on the _Ends_ , is to snatch a few precious hours of sleep before the new day…

Which is made more than a little difficult by the person standing in my cabin. One I recognize, albeit dimly.

I don't say a word. Just close the door behind me, and sigh. "So, I guess those rumors about Roberts being associated with the Revolutionaries are true, then," I say. "You here to kill me, or just make some threats? Maybe try to bribe me into turning my coat?" I grin. "Might find that harder than you think...Koala."

The orange-haired Revolutionary doesn't even flinch. "Roberts can claim what he likes. But he isn't part of us. The men he sends to his mines are practically slaves," she says flatly, folding her arms. She's dressed like anyone else on the Archipelago, favoring heavy furs and one of those hats that makes me want to alternately laugh and start saying things in bad Russian. "No. I'm here because of Kuma."

Oh, great.

"This is gonna end with me getting knocked unconscious and delivered to Baltigo, isn't it?"

"Yep," she says, far too cheerily.

"And it'll happen without anyone even noticing I was gone, and I have absolutely no choice in the matter, am I right?"

Her grin widening by a couple molars is all the answer I need.

"Well then, fuck y-"


	27. Chapter 51

"Okay, knocking me out, I can understand. But how'd you manage to do it in such a way that I woke up perfectly on time?" I ask with curiosity as I sit back in one of the chairs in the...very _white_ room I'd woken up in.

"You know, most people are more annoyed when I do this," Koala remarks.

I shrug. "You can't do any permanent damage to me."

"That a challenge?"

I let my eyes flick to black. "An observation," I say with a smile. "Nothing else."

She takes a step back, then chuckles. "Well, at least Kuma was right about _what_ you were."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"Don't get any ideas, cannibal," she says, a bit more frostily. "You've got information Kuma thought was good enough to risk breaking cover for and sending Dragon into a tizzy about. But you're still a pirate, and with enough of a body count to prove exactly why the Marines aren't _always_ assholes."

I lean back, changing my eyes back to normal. "Got no choice in my diet, and given time I'm half-certain my captain will find a way around it. Rest of the body count...don't tell me your hands are clean," I add, coldly.

Okay, now she looks like she wants to tear me a new one, visibly restraining herself. I just grin.

Again, Fishman Karate or no Fishman Karate, I'll heal.

...eventually.

I stop grinning as the door opens.

Monkey D. Dragon, looking as though he's been carved out of stone, glaring at me, is not something that deserves any degree of levity.

Riiiight. Because while the Straw Hats might've been close enough that Dragon knew they were good people, I'm on the opposite end, as Koala's already reminded me. And I've poked one of their most important assets.

Alright, Kaneki. Can't treat this like I would anything else. Most wanted man in the world in front of me. Mask on, time to get serious.

I straighten in my seat, keeping my hands where they can see them, and nod. "What do you want to know?"

"Usually people wait for us to ask an actual question, first," Dragon says drily.

"You haven't killed me and you dragged my ass here for what's obviously a round of questions. I'm a ghoul, not an idiot. So, where do I start?"

Dragon closes the door behind him. "You know who my son is."

"And your father, and the fact that the kid has two blood brothers" I say neutrally. "Pity about the amnesia, but I can't help but find it funny that he ended up as Chief of Staff and the _entire time_ you've had no idea about him, Luffy, and Ace."

"Explain. Now," Dragon says flatly.

"They swore an oath to be blood brothers. Luffy and Ace never saw you rescue Sabo, and Sabo's amnesia made it so he wouldn't remember. Fuck, they're probably both near Alabasta right now, send someone to tell them and you'll get all the proof you need."

I can't read the man at all. Granted, social-fu isn't my forte at all, but it's still disconcerting to see just _how good_ of a poker face Dragon can put on. I swallow nervously.

"How, exactly, can you know all this?"

"I saw it happen." True, in a manner of speaking.

"And Kuma? I doubt you somehow snuck your way into Vegapunk's laboratories undetected. And your...assertion, about the Empty Throne."

"The creature that sits there is named Im. And I didn't need to sneak _anywhere._ " Fuck it, let's do this. "Consider this: what happens when you read a work of fiction? Does the world in those pages cease to exist beyond the book? Is it ink and paper, written down by the dreams of an author? Or is it a reality in and of itself?"

"You are seriously claiming that-"

"Koala," I say flatly, cutting off Dragon. "Slavery under the Celestial Dragons as a child, rescued by Fisher Tiger, the first human given the Sun Pirates brand, her village betrayed Tiger for her freedom and in the resulting clash the fishman was mortally wounded. The story goes that no human gave him blood...but I know that he _really_ had, through no fault of his own, grown to hate humans so much he couldn't stand having their blood within him. Tequila Wolf, the seven-hundred-year-old bridge across islands that has been built by convicts and slave labor. The seven levels of Impel Down, five well-known, one hidden, and one secret to the wardens and the public alike, with Ivankov leading it. Kuma, slowly being converted into a machine of war for a purpose even _I_ don't quite get yet, a deal with the Marines and a double-agent for your cause within the Seven Warlords. And I know how you met Luffy in Loguetown. Stopped Smoker from arresting him. How could I know that when I was in the South Blue the whole time...unless what I say is true? I've no Devil Fruit, and none of my crewmates have one that could allow them to peer across the world and through _time itself_...but a story, a story is a simpler thing to remember."

Koala's gone pale. Dragon looks as impassive as ever, staring down at me.

"Tell me everything," he commands.

I do.

* * *

Kaneki looked like shit. Again.

His first mate clearly hadn't slept, deep bags present under his eyes. More obvious than even that was the fact he apparently wasn't awake enough to actually put on a _shirt_ , even with the cold, only wearing his black jacket and leaving the horrifying brand on his entire torso clearly visible.

Ah, well. If he got frostbite, it's not like it'd actually slow him down. And Vinci had more pressing concerns. Concerns for which having a Kaneki who looked hungover and ready to murder whoever disturbed his consumption of his oversized mug of coffee would be rather helpful.

Grenzer and his band of mercenaries had left a skeleton crew on their behemoth of a vessel, taking up quarters in the Ducal Palace instead.

All that really entailed was that the door he kicked open didn't immediately shatter. It did, however, slam back on its hinges with a satisfying crash.

Grenzer's bureaucrat looked up from his desk. "Ah," he said blandly. "Is there a problem?"

"Yep," Vinci said, equally mildly. "You mind getting your boss out here?"

Kaneki took a very long, very loud sip of his coffee as the bureaucrat stood up and vanished into a back room. Grenzer came out moments later. The man looked as though he'd gotten even less sleep than Kaneki. Good.

"Grenzer." His voice was as cold as ice.

"Vinci."

"Explain these fucking _orders_ you decided to hand down, now."

"It's meant to-"

"It's meant to split my crew up and put _me_ on the back line managing a fucking _field hospital_ , is what. You're putting my men and women under the control of other captains. I want a damn explanation, and if it's sound, I might decide not to use you as a new _test subject._ "

Grenzer took a deep breath as Vinci glared, the beat of the King's Heart reverberating in his ears. If he could cause men to spontaneously combust with mere glaring…

He felt something shift in his eyes, and pushed back against it, suppressing the change. It wouldn't do to actually kill the man, they still needed _someone_ to plan things.

Honestly, he was already discarding the half-formed plan to betray the Doge and loot them all to the bedrock. For one, Roberts, just cause or not (and the bits of information he could get pointed firmly to the 'no'), was sure to be crushed horribly the moment the World Government took an interest. For a second, he'd lost two crewmen to that pirate captain's attack, both eviscerated by the man's hair in his initial attack. Blood had to be answered with blood, and Roberts's dread pirates would bleed aplenty.

"Your crew being split up is not an insult," Grenzer began cautiously. Vinci bit back a retort, but let him keep talking. For all the simmering anger, he _was_ genuinely interested in the man's reasoning.

"It's because you're an anomaly. Most crews on the Line have a decently strong captain and some barely-competent officers, with everyone else being little more than warm bodies. All the other crews here, excluding my own, have that makeup. Yours...hrm. You have strong officers and men who are actually rather capable in a fight, even if they lack for experience.. I cannot divide my own soldiers- we have to remain concentrated to counter the Kriegers and their numbers. Your men, on the other hand, can be used to stiffen the other crews. And as for your placement in the field hospitals...the Poison Fangs and the Kriegers alike make a habit of attacking places like those. If you're close enough to respond, you can either slaughter or delay them as needed. And your medical expertise is _going_ to be needed more than combat ability in the early stages. Once we draw out the enemy leaders...then, your crew will be needed as a strike force."

Vinci narrowed his eyes. "Acceptable," he said flatly. "But don't try to take over control of my own crew again, Grenzer. And you had best be right about those hospital attacks."

"Eager for a fight?"

Vinci grinned. "More the possibility of getting a new Zoan on my operating table, and one I don't have to worry about keeping alive."

A bit of a lie, given that Herman was refusing to volunteer for experimentation after the debacle with Lauren's hallucinogens. But he _was_ hoping to probe the limits of that Fruit class's legendary durability if he got the chance.

"I...see. Are there any other concerns?"

"Well, we don't have to worry about the Revolutionary Army sticking their heads in," Kaneki said. "They don't like Roberts any more than we do."

"And you know this _how?"_ Grenzer asked, mirroring Vinci's own unspoken question.

Kaneki smiled thinly. "Got my own sources. And this." He tossed a scroll to Grenzer, who opened it. "Apparently this- by which I mean, some jagoff trying to use their name to make their enemies more wary of them- happens often enough they made a form letter for it," Kaneki said, grin widening.

Grenzer closed the scroll abruptly. "Well, then. I think we can go on the offensive shortly. Captain Vinci, will you disperse your men as requested?"

Vinci nodded, and walked out quickly, letting Kaneki follow.

He had more questions for his first mate, but this wasn't the place for them.


	28. Chapter 52

"You're our reinforcements?" Clare asked skeptically, looking the group of a dozen over from her position against the _Grandfather's_ rail. Their leader looked almost literally dead on his feet, carrying a pair of tonfas and wearing a headband proudly emblazoned with the Nightmare Jolly Roger. "You don't look like a pack of heavyweights."

"And you don't look like a cast-iron bitch, and yet here we are," the Nightmare said in an utterly deadpan tone.

Despite herself, Clare smiled slightly. Little guy had spine.

"It's bronze, actually," she said lightly. "Still, you lot aren't going to be a problem, _right?"_

"No," the Nightmare said flatly. "You have a plan, _right?_ "

"That's Captain Doppel's job, but yes, we have a plan."

"Where is he, anyway?"

Clare chuckled. "Sleeping off last night's hangover. And on that note, give me a minute, I'll wake him up."

It was very simple to manifest a piece of clockwork- a gear, appropriately- in her hand, pushing it free of her palm. Simpler still to hurl it at the bell mounted over the forecastle, eliciting a loud, ringing toll. None of the other Gears even looked up as the door just below that below slammed open and Quare Doppel walked out, tuning fork in hand. He glared at her.

Heh. Still hungover, obviously. Clare gave him a sunny smile he obviously wouldn't see behind her layer of armor, and waved her hand down in the direction of the Nightmare group. "Look, Captain. That creepy bastard's as good as his word."

"You mean Grenzer or our captain?" the Nightmare growled.

"What would you do if I meant the second?" she asked.

The Nightmare shrugged. "Eh. Probably buy you a drink, seeing as how you're a woman and somehow _still_ have balls the size of your head."

The captain laughed. "So I guess this means we're going to start the fight now?" he called. "Fuck it!" He thumped the butt of his fork on the deck, sending a familiar reverberation through the hull of the _Grandfather._ "Get up, you lazy bastards! We've got a war to fight!"

* * *

"You know the plan?" Knutte asked long, dark, and ugly- aka the Nightmare navigator, who'd shown up with twenty equally hard-faced assholes.

The big man grinned, baring elongated canines. "Go over the bridge, kill anyone trying to fight us, and keep going as long as we can?"

Knutte laughed. "There ya go!" He turned to the rest of his crew, the two hundred fighting men and women who'd come through storm and ruin and fucking _Warlords_ with him, and raised his axe. "BOYS!" he shouted. "IT'S TIME TO RAISE HELL! WE'RE GOING TO GO FIND THAT PANSY-ASS BUSINESSMAN AND FEED HIM HIS EYEBALLS!"

Judging from the roar of approval, they quite liked the idea. He spread his arms and smiled, taking it in, before turning back to the Nightmares. "Hope you lot can keep up."

"Oh, that we can, old man," the man in black said. Knutte sniffed the air, and smiled at what he found. Another Zoan, huh? Fella was big enough even without being in hybrid form, but no matter. He locked eyes with the Nightmare. "Race ya there, then, pup."

* * *

The girl and her coterie had slipped in among his own crew smooth as silk, joining Skantarios as they followed the loping charge of the Steel Shields from the safety of the rooftops.

 _He_ had no desire to get caught up in that soon-to-be-ship-wreck, thank you very much. Let the barbarians charge headlong into the fight- it would give him and his room to slip by and strike from a safe distance, as they always did. Getting across the bridge would be difficult...probably best to halt there until the Steel Shields had punched through.

He landed on another rooftop, noting idly that the girl had caught up to him. She seemed to want to get his attention- best to watch her.

"You Skantarios?" she said as she continued running. "All of you guys look kinda alike."

"Yes," he said flatly as he leapt off the edge and over the street.

"Good. Supposed to give you this."

He caught the package- a large bundle of tubes tied together- with ease, and examined it briefly as he kept moving.

Flares. Hm.

"Signals?" he asked, keeping his words clipped. Sharp and crisp, not the half-there accent that would mark out what he was. There was no room for weakness to be shown, not ever.

The girl grinned. "Yup. Grenzer and his overgrown tub'll provide fire support. Light one and toss it, the red smoke'll let them know what needs flattening."

Acceptable. And more help than he had been anticipating from the mercenaries. They seemed to be more likely to wait and strike...which was exactly what he preferred, so he could not exactly fault them. Still, it was different when he was the one who was being left out to dry.

He nodded. "Useful."

"Damn right."

He halted on the edge of the last rooftop, staring towards the bridge. The structure was an immense thing of stone and metal, rimed with ice and the remnants of snow from two nights past. There had been mists earlier, but the sun had cleared that away, and the distant buildings on the other side of the seawater river were visible. More than that, he could see moving shapes, people forming into ranks as they responded to what was obviously an oncoming attack.

He unlimbered his longbow, stringing it in one smooth motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl slowly pull free an immense rifle. She was hesitant...why?

Had the Nightmares sent an unblooded girl? Hmph. Or one with the restraint of a moral compa- ha, no, not in that crew.

It didn't matter.

The Steel Shields were on the bridge, pounding forwards. He couldn't hear the gunshots, if they were there, but nobody was falling, the range was too great.

It would be best to reduce the rebels before the Shields could start taking losses. The more bodies between him and the actual fighting, the better.

He pulled an arrow from his belt quiver. Checked it. Straight shaft, fletchings perfect. He nocked, and drew, pulling back on the string until the fletchings tickled his cheek inside his hood.

He drew on his power, holding it within the arrow. Loosed.

" _Hundredfold,"_ he said simply.

His will was done. One arrow became a hundred, descending on the enemy positions. The ranks shivered and broke, lines shaking apart as the wounded fell. They'd reform, but not before-

One of the barricades exploded, a silent fireball rising from where there'd been a cannon. He turned, looking at the girl, whose rifle smoked.

He nodded. At least she'd found some spine.

Then he turned back, drawing another arrow.

There was much more work to be done.

* * *

Tristo yawned, earning him a dirty look from Amico. "What?" he said defensively. "It's not like we're going to have to get our own hands dirty. We've got meatshields for that."

"I'm standing right here, you know," the Nightmare first mate said. His little gang of masked hooligans- including the creepy suited guy who'd reportedly _eaten_ a quarter of the Black Beard crew- glared at Tristo, who chuckled around his cigar.

"Yeah, I know it. But you guys are brawlers, not ranged fighters like me and little bro here. And even if _you_ don't have to jump between the two of us and the bullets, we've got a hundred other troopers ahead of ya. And ahead of _them_ , whatever the Gears and mercs have going. Isn't like we've got a lot to worry about."

The Butcher Bird's eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his mask, and he nodded sharply. "Fair. Still, ain't going to be a cakewalk...not if they're smart. Urban fighting is gonna be ugly."

"Yeah, yeah." Tristo exhaled as he walked, sending smoke drifting. "It's a pity. They used to be friends, you know?"

"Who?"

"The Doge and Roberts."

"You're joking."

"Nah. Real close, those two. Hell, me and bro handled dirty work for Roberts a couple times."

"Tristo…" Amico said warningly, using his ludicrous height to glare down at him.

"Hey, what's big, tall, and bearded gonna do? Have me killed? We're the ones who do that."

"He could have us do it," the skull-masked Nightmare said cheerfully.

"You'd be in for a bad time if you tried, kid," Tristo said gravely. "But yeah, they were close. Me? I figure they were lovers."

The Nightmare first mate sputtered, before starting to laugh. "You're a real comedian, ain'tcha," he said as they kept walking ahead of the detachment of Ducal Guard.

"I'm serious. Think about it...they were real close before, then suddenly they're both at each other's throats. Like _boom._ " He snapped his fingers. "Then a couple weeks later Roberts starts planning to kill the Doge, right after the Doge raises taxes on the mines he owns? If that isn't two lovers having an escalatin' spat I don't know what is."

"...you're full of shit," the Butcher Bird said.

Tristo grinned, and tipped the brim of his blue fedora. "Find out for yourself, birdy."

"We gonna actually get to the fighting _today_ , boss?" one of the Nightmares wearing a gas mask asked. As if to punctuate the guy's complaint, one of the giant hounds the pirates had brought with them barked.

"Day's still young," the Butcher Bird said. He looked at Tristo. "You want to come along as we scout ahead?"

Tristo shook his head. "Nah. Too much effort. But if you guys could herd them towards us when you run into the enemy, that'd be great."

The Nightmare snorted. "Figures." Red tentacles erupted from his back, and he leapt forward, vanishing into the distance. The other Nightmares, including the hounds, did the same, though without the addition of horrifying appendages.

Tristo watched them go impassively.

* * *

This place had probably been a public park at some point, though what a place like the Archipelago would do with a public park baffled Vinci. It wasn't as though the climate allowed much plant life to grow. And yet there'd been a park, positioned just so so that the distance between it and the bridges that the crews and soldiers were crossing was about even for both sides. Perfect for a field hospital.

So now the park's grassy hills and small, hardy clusters of trees were obscured by the white fabric of tents and the bulky crates of medical supplies.

Vinci looked over what he had to work with. It wasn't the supplies that concerned him- even with the thousands of soldiers that were going to be going to war on both sides, they had plenty- it was the doctors.

His own were decently trained. Four men: Oyeplet Akis, Cannule Salk, Sereptal Blackwell, and Crate Escobar. He could trust them to handle anything up to and including major surgery. Nothing like bleeding-edge biological sciences, but they'd keep people alive even if they weren't innovators.

Next on that were a couple of Palace doctors. Pricks. They were competent, if barely, but they didn't seem cooperative. Still, he'd just had to glare at them to get them to fall in line, and it seemed to be working.

After that…

The Steel Shields had donated some ancient hag named Seida Laveau. He half expected her to try shaking a stick full of beads over someone or some other sort of 'magic' rather than actual medical science, but the North Blue crew had apparently thought her quite helpful, so he supposed she had to be doing _something_ right. He'd have to see her work to judge for himself.

The Gears doctor was currently thirty percent ethyl alcohol by volume and apparently was given to performing surgery while drunk. Vinci had taken one look at the man and ordered a couple of handy Ducal Guard to dunk him in a well until he sobered up, and hadn't gotten his name- though the dire imprecations he shouted every few moments meant he was still in the process of being recombobulated.

The Ranger Pirates had given him someone who'd shown up dressed as a medieval plague doctor. That creepy bastard hadn't said a word yet, and was currently giving the Ducal Guard who were setting up the tents a major case of the heebie-jeebies by just...standing there while they worked. He honestly hoped the man was competent and wouldn't use a technique that matched the date of his clothing. He had no desire to find patients being bled to balance their humours or some other nonsense.

This was what he had to treat the casualties of a major war.

It was enough to set his eyes to itching and cause a headache behind said organs as well.

Well, to hell with it. Shortage of competent personnel or not, he'd fulfill the oaths he'd taken and heal everyone who came in need of it.

Even if he had to push himself beyond human limits to do so, nobody would die on his watch. **Nobody.**


	29. Chapter 53

Doppel was enjoying himself.

That would be normal in most other circumstances, but here, as gunfire and the sounds of clashing blades filled the air, it was a strange thing.

He laughed as he ran forward, a leap carrying him over the scrum between his own men and the ragged rebels, landing lightly on the barrel of a cannon that had been mounted on one of their makeshift barricades. The gun crew, men wearing the emblems of the Black Beards- hadn't the Nightmares killed most of them?- looked up in horror.

Doppel smiled, knowing it would be the only thing visible in the shadows cast by his wide-brimmed hat, and tapped the butt of his tuning fork against the cannon. "Morning, gentlemen. _Steel Canon._ "

The cannon rang, and the barrel cracked as the gun crew screamed in pain, bleeding from eyes and ears. As they stumbled back, Doppel's smile widened, and he unsheathed his sword. The gun crew died before the other soldiers on the barricade could reach them, but those soldiers kept coming, waving all manner of disconcerting implements. He swept the tuning fork forwards.

" _Heaven's Canon."_

The blast of vibrating air tossed them aside like chaff.

Doppel grimaced and dug a finger in his ear. Had he screwed up that blast? He couldn't hear the battle anym-

No, wait, that was because all the rebels on the barricades, and in front of them, were dead. His mistake.

The Nightmares mixed in with his crew were already looting the dead, while their leader cleaned the blood off his tonfas.

Jackals, the lot of them.

The least they could do was let his boys have first pick, after all.

"Alright!" he shouted, grabbing the attention of his crew. "No time to stop, boys. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and I have a feeling we've just kicked the hornet's nest. Let's keep moving!" He turned back around, checking the streets. Four roads- three deeper into the city, a fourth parallel to the river. Great. "First and Second Divisions, hold the road and the bridge here. Third, left, I'm with you. Fourth, Clare, center road. Nightmares, you've got the right. Let's go!"

Clare sketched a salute with the ornate, oversized clock hand she carried, and trotted off, followed by thirty of his crew. Another thirty followed Doppel as the remaining sixty spread out along the road.

Did he feel all that bad about sending the Nightmares off alone?

Not really. They weren't his crew, and if they felt obligated to walk around like hardasses, they'd better be prepared to prove it.

* * *

Knutte snarled in frustration as his men scrambled for whatever cover they could find, bullets whipping through the air. The bastards had set up a gun position at the end of the street, and everything else in this direction was blocked off by rubble and barricades. A killing ground, and one he had little choice but to push through.

"Fucking rebel shitheads!" he shouted, before jerking his head back behind the dubious safety of a storefront. Muttering curses, he dug a transponder snail out of his pocket.

"Nightmare! Where are your boys?"

" _Pinned down behind you. Why?"_

"I'm gonna draw their fire. Can you take out that gun?"

There was a moment's silence.

" _Yeah."_

Knutte nodded, and drew on his power. His body swelled and hardened, plates of armor-like hide covering his body. Claws sprouted from his fingertips and toes, and he hunched forwards as his spine reshaped itself. He smiled, displaying rows of tombstone-like teeth, and fell to all fours.

Bullets skipped off his head and shoulders, deflecting or flattening against the hide that had given him his nickname. It didn't even hurt, and Knutte kept advancing. His vision was poor in this state, but he could still make out the rebel position at the end of the street, if only because it was hard to miss the constant muzzle flashes of their gatling gun and the rifle teams manning the barricade next to them.

There was a brief moment of pressure as someone grabbed ahold of the hide near his hips, pressure that vanished almost instantly.

" _White Fang!"_

The gatling gun- and most of the barricade around it- vanished as a blade of air crushed it with all the delicacy of a particularly large hammer.

The Nightmare navigator landed in front of Knutte, sword in hand, and loped forwards as the Steel Shields and other Nightmares poured out of their cover, taking advantage of the sudden disarray of their enemies. A hail of bullets forced the rebels to huddle behind their barricades as his crew advanced, carrying swords and the shields they'd taken their name from.

They might not have been the best shots, but damn if his boys couldn't lay down the hurt in close combat.

He shrank back down as he turned back to human form, vision sharpening again. The Nightmare navigator gave him a strange look. "What?" Knutte growled.

"Armadillo Zoan?" the navigator asked. "Hadn't expected that."

"What the hell did you expect?"

"Honestly? Bear Zoan."

Knutte gave him the finger, and looked towards the fighting, which was dying down rapidly as several of the rebels ran rather than face his crew.

It begged a question. Where the hell were the enemy crews? This lot was mostly miners and ex-civilians, not pirates. Where had they-

 _Thump-thump thump-thump_.

He dove for cover as the shrieking wail of incoming mortar rounds filled his ears. Explosions began to rain down around him, and he hugged the wall of the nearest shop, cursing under his breath as the sound of his men running- and dying- began to filter under the hell that was being unleashed.

He was going to find the bastards who were doing this and tear them apart, he swore.

* * *

The first notice they got of the sniper was when one of the Tercio merc's heads turned into vapor.

Jack wasn't a fool- he grabbed the nearest members of his crew and yanked them into the nearest alley, hoping the others would take the hint.

The Tercios broke almost instantly, the black-and-yellow-wearing mercenaries spreading out into the alleyways, and the sniper's rifle cracked twice more. Jack counted heads. Eleven, twelve, thirteen...phew. Hadn't lost anyone yet. Now where the hell were those shots coming from?

Another rifle cracked- this one a deeper sound, clearly a heavier caliber- and one of the Tercio commanders- the one who dressed as though he was on vacation- stepped out into the street, carrying said rifle. "Get your butts in gear, people!" he shouted. "Not going to be the first time one of these bastards shows up. Next time, shoot them!"

Well, he and his weren't going to, that was for sure. He preferred living, and having a hole in his brain was not conducive to that.

…

He needed to stop hanging around the captain so much. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up cackling and waving a scalpel around while talking about science in words that had more syllables than a centipede had legs.

Right. Back to the war. He looked over his men, then glanced up. Fuck, he hated fighting on roofs. But if there were more snipers- and there definitely were- it was the best way to avoid being seen. With the amount of attention the mercs on the ground were attracting, nobody would notice an attack from above.

"Rooftops," he said flatly, before jumping up- and kicking off the air again, propelling himself still higher. The others followed, the few who hadn't gotten the hang of Moon Walk being carried by those who were skilled with it.

"We're going to move fast," he said quickly. "Stay out of sight, let the Tercios move in first, but when the enemy shows up, hit them as hard as you can and keep them from killing our allies. Get me?"

Nods all around.

Jack hefted his hammer.

It looked like he was going to have to work after all. What a shame. He'd hoped being attached to the Tercios would mean back-line duties.

* * *

It was quiet.

Which it most certainly shouldn't have been, because a quarter of the Gear Pirates and the entire Fourth Company of the Tercio mercs had been pushing through here, and the sounds of battle should've been audible still.

But except for the dead bodies in the streets- mostly rebels and Black Beard crew, though there were many Tercios and a few Gears- there wasn't a single damn sign of the enemy.

It made Eka nervous. And the Boss too, judging by how he was practically stalking down the street. Even C had picked up on it, the kid fingering one of the many short throwing knives he carried and walking with his head on a swivel.

 _Spread out and watch the rooftops_ , Eka signalled to the others with his hands.

 _Sixty-three molluscs atop a shell pie,_ Percy signed back. Eka restrained a sigh. And here he'd thought that they'd gotten the hand of the thieves' cant.

Well, it appeared they'd gotten the gist anyway. The Oni surrounded the Boss and C, a loose web of bodyguards that covered every sightline.

The sounds of their boots echoed off the empty and frozen streets.


	30. Chapter 54

AN: There is a bolded portion here that, originally, was red text. Since this site doesn't support that, had to make do.

* * *

There was a reason Grenzer preferred fighting to sitting back and running the battle.

"First and Second are holding their ground, but the rebels are pushing back hard!"

" _Gods damn it, where the hell is our fire support? I need those mortars_ gone!"

"Fishmen have breached the ice near Fifth Company! They're taking heavy losses!"

" _They've mined the approaches to the main factories. We're pulling back. We're not getting paid to die like rats."_

"Has anyone heard where Fourth went?"

The _noise._

A dozen men trying to handle communications from just as many transponder snails made for a racket that sent a headache ringing in his brain and made him grit his teeth in frustration.

He glared at the map and its markers.

The Rangers and Steel Shields, with some of the Ducal Guard backing them up, had pushed onto their island, Cherny Dym, but had gotten bogged down in a morass of traps and artillery fire. The Ducal forces, faced with what the few confused reports had indicated were the Poison Fangs and their captain, were retreating, and unless he ordered a withdrawal, the other pirate crews would be surrounded in short order.

Zelenyy, the other rebel island, was little better. The Gears had cracked the initial rebel defenses but the city streets had forced them to separate, and from what he could tell two of their groups had vanished outright. His own men were bleeding and dying as the enemy crews struck from the shadows- or, in the rebel's case, with human waves.

And his Fourth Company had outright vanished.

And there was _still_ no sign of the Kriegers.

Another snail rang, and Grenzer bit back the age-old urge to glare at the damn thing, before picking it up.

The snail visibly cringed before shifting into the masked visage of that horrifying cannibal the Nightmares had. The second one, not the Butcher Bird.

God, he hated that he had to clarify that.

"What?"

" _Well, we found your guys. And the Gear people,"_ the creepy bastard said.

"And?" Grenzer growled.

" _Well, they're asleep. I think. Mostly. Might be some are dead. Don't see your officer person, though."_

There was a wet and extremely unpleasant sound.

" _Oh! I found him. Is he supposed to be trying to kill us?"_

Grenzer's eye twitched violently.

Then he took a deep breath. "Try not to kill him. If he's a traitor, I need him alive. If he is controlled by someone else, I would rather he not be dead for something not his fault."

The snail frowned. " _Aw. I thought I could eat him. Okay, old guy, sure."_ There was another unpleasant noise. " _Hey! Unfashionably dressed guy! I have to beat you unconscious! Come back here!"_

The snail clicked and returned to normalcy.

Grenzer took a deep breath, and counted to ten.

Then he picked up another snail.

" _Yeah?"_ the elder and shorter of the Doge's assassins drawled.

"Change of plans," Grenzer said shortly. "Move your soldiers to support the Steel Shields. They desperately need the backup."

" _You sure your boys can handle things yourselves?"_

"We'll hold without your help. They won't."

" _Alrighty then. Amico! We're gonna go kill some people on the other island instead."_

It took all of Grenzer's self-control not to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he shut the snail off, and glared at the various people in the room with him, before pointing at Gabriel. The excessively dangerous bureaucrat straightened. "Sir?"

"Make sure everything's set into place, and prepare to pull our people back across the bridges when I give the word," he said.

"Yes, sir. Where are you going?"

"Where do you think, pup? The front lines."

Grenzer strode out, cracking his knuckles as he went.

Fifth Company first. The fishmen were the largest threat for the moment.

* * *

"And what have we learned today?" I ask.

"Not to run ahead of the group," C responds, pulling a knife with a corkscrew-shaped blade out of his rib cage with a grunt.

"How the hell did he even get ahead of us? I took my eyes off him for two seconds!" Eka grumbles.

I shrug. "It's C. Last time he went somewhere he found a Warlord."

"I liked him. He seemed polite. Except for when he punched you into those buildings."

"Riiiight."

"Um...Boss? Shouldn't we be more concerned with all...this?" Eka asks, waving a hand at the street that is quite literally filled with slumbering bodies, both Gears and Tercio mercs.

I shrug. "C, did you try waking them up?"

"Well, I tried doing what Jack does when someone oversleeps on the ship."

"Screaming in their ears?"

"Yup. Didn't work. And then that rainbow guy came and tried to kill me. Then he ran away again."

I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose- the mask would just get in the way. Instead I just crack my knuckles. "Right. Let's go find the bastard."

"Uh, Boss."

I look at where Eka's pointing, at the three figures outlined against the clear sky.

On the left, Foglio Clare in her armor. On the right, Maurice, still dressed as garishly as ever.

In the center...some asshole in black cloak with a tricorn of the same color clapped on his head, holding a flute.

"Hey!" I shout. "What fucking gives? We're on the same side, you pricks!"

The asshole in the middle actually giggles. "They can't hear you, you know," he says. "They'll only hear me."

Okay...creepy motherfucker. Probably controlling these guys. "And who the hell are you?" I ask.

"I am Pied Yugendo, second mate of the Black Beard Pirates. It is quite fortuitous we have met here, cannibals." He smiles. "It will be interesting to watch your own crew be forced to tear you apart."

Nope! Not dealing with that. "Riiiiight. You die now."

I start to run forwards, tails bursting free. Yugendo simply raises his flute to his lips, and starts to play. Does he think it'll help...him…

God, I'm tired…

Heh, C and the others seem to be, too…

Could just, lie down, right here…there's a nice lullaby in…

 **What the hell am I thinking? I'm in combat!**

I slam a hand into the cobblestones, the spike of pain driving away the clouds filling my head, and push myself up onto my knees, glaring at Yugendo, who is _still playing the damn lullaby._ I can practically feel the music, trying to worm into my ears.

"Surprised?" Yugendo asks, somehow still playing at the same time. "Ah, well. You can't resist forever."

I grin, and slide my trench spike out of its sheath, getting to my feet and staggering forwards. I feel drunk, my limbs not responding properly, weighed down and too light at the same time.

"Do you really think you can reach me before you fall asleep? You can't inflict enough pain on yourself to keep out my song."

"It's not for _you,"_ I grit out, raising the spike, point downward.

This is gonna suck…

"What are you-"

Any other injury, I'd ignore it. Pain is easy to push away, after all.

But now I need pain, to use it as an anchor. And so the white-hot _agony_ where I stab into my body with my own weapon nearly drives the breath out of my lungs.

I stand, and cough, spattering blood on the ground, before baring my teeth at Yugendo and his puppets.

Six tails streak across the battlefield, finding the Oni where they slumber and flicking the toggles on their masks.

The shouts of maddened rage make my smile widen as Yugendo visibly pales, stopping his lullaby. The man takes a step back as I take one forwards, before raising the flute to his lips again and playing a single, sharp note. His puppets- not friends, not allies, can't think of them as such, can't afford to be _soft_ \- blur into motion.

* * *

It was different, this time.

The last time they'd fought under the influence of the drug, from what little Eka could remember, it had been a barely-coherent mess of rage and violence. He'd forgotten everything, turned into an animal, the only thing keeping him from turning on the crew the bare traces of the Boss's scent that they had.

This time...this time, it was almost as though he was outside of his body, watching the thing fight.

Six of them, moving as one, a pack that seemed to share a single mind. They moved so quickly the world seemed to proceed in slow motion, and their footsteps broke the cobblestones underneath their feet.

And yet they were still _losing_.

Maurice had never taken part in the training spars that the Boss and the Captain had set up between the crews. They'd had no idea what he was capable of, only the fact that he was worth forty-one million berries. Apparently, what the second-highest Tercio bounty was capable of was becoming a whirling dervish of knives that would have killed or incapacitated all of them in the first few seconds if it hadn't been for their regeneration. Not a Devil Fruit power, but just an endless number of maiming blades produced from under the riot of colorful clothing the man wore.

Why did he keep ending up fighting those sorts of people? First Kan-edgy, and now their own puppeted ally.

Eka's body leapt forward, dao cleaving downwards, while Chandos launched himself towards the merc from the other side, his own longsword swinging. Maurice twisted, the latest of his knives deflecting Eka's dao almost contemptuously to the side as he dodged Chandos's attack at the same time, popping up on one leg to spin and send his heel into the man's nose with a sickening crack. Chandos went flying back, and Maurice turned to Eka, a second knife joining the rain of blows he hammered down on his guard. It was only the intervention of Tina, coming in low with her longaxe from Eka's right, that forced the Company Commander back and let Eka take a moment to breath and let the few cuts he hadn't been able to block heal. In those few precious seconds, he looked over the wider battlefield. Chandos was pulling himself out of what had probably been a storefront six hurtling Oni impacts ago, mustache bristling above his mask and his breath steaming redly in the air. Pamca had replaced Tina, who was falling back with what looked like a slashed tendon. Percy was helping him, the prizefighter worming his way in close as best he could while Pamca attacked wildly. Dui was pulling himself up from his own landing spot (where he'd been left after Maurice had cut up his belly) and looked angry. Eka didn't even need to nod to him- the moment Pamca staggered back, fingers holding a spurting artery closed, he leapt back into the fight.

C was still asleep. Someone had shoved him into a corner at some point- probably Percy, honestly, the guy could be incredibly soft-hearted for a pirate- and he was safe for now. And the Boss…

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE COME AND FIGHT ME YOU UGLY BOATRAG!"

The Boss was rapidly becoming annoyed as the Gear's first mate proved to be oddly effective at imitating him, the six clockwork limbs springing from her back proving just as fast and lethal as the Boss's own, leaving the two of them in a stalemate as he tried to knock her out without killing her and she tried to turn him into a modern art project.

No time to help him. Percy was flat on his back, clutching at the knife in his chest, and Eka needed to hit Maurice hard before he did something permanent to his buddy.


	31. Chapter 55

"My liege, is this entirely necessary?"

Doge Alexandrinov XIX looked down at his Chief of Staff, staring through the bars of his helmet. "I am not a strategist, general. Nor am I a monster in combat, like so many of those in my employ. But I am still ruler of this Archipelago, and I will not cower behind the walls of this palace while other men fight and die for my cause."

"But...my liege, if you fall…"

"If that happens, I have plans," he said. Friends in the World Government, instructions on who to set to govern the islands...to prepare them for the worst, once the mines began to give out. Enough, maybe, to still allow them to pay the Heavenly Tribute, to prevent them from losing the protection of the Marines that kept the Archipelago from being nothing more than another plundered ruin.

It was ironic. He and Roberts had begun to plan together to keep that fate at bay. And yet their disagreements had brought it home all too soon.

"Still, with no heir…"

"Kazrak. I am going to fight. Now make peace with that."

The horned man grimaced, and nodded, taking a step away from Alexandrinov's horse. The Doge turned in his saddle, examining the lines of armored cavalry that had assembled in the palace courtyard. He drew his sword- an ancient weapon that, unlike most of the pieces his various courtiers favored, was utterly unadorned and more like a particularly ambitious machete than a blade of elegance and grace- and pointed it at the opening gates. "Men! We ride!"

The Household Guard, one hundred armored dragoons, thundered down the city streets.

* * *

"Black vest, two hundred meters, by the shop front."

"See him."

 _Boom._

"Down," Pravilno said idly.

Lauren chambered another round.

Pravilno was a good spotter. Surprisingly. He'd seemed too loose to have the right focus.

Herself...she was cold as ice. She couldn't afford not to be.

"Red cap, one fifty meters, back by the gun crew."

"See him."

 _Boom._

"Down."

Had to be cold. Thinking about what was on the other end of the scope would get her killed.

"One with the bazooka and the fur hat, one seventy-five, on the barricade."

"See him."

 _Boom._

"Down."

* * *

In a way, Vinci was grateful.

The field medics were the ones who did triage. Sorting out the ones who'd live first and giving them priority to be brought back.

It meant that there hadn't been anyone who'd died on his table yet.

He tuned out the screaming, begging for their mothers, and various other horrifying noises of medicine, and focused on suturing what had been an arm and was now a stump.

Arteries closed. Wound cleaned. Bandages applied.

He stripped off a pair of gloves, pulled on a new one, and moved to the next patient, someone who'd caught the edge of an exploding shell. Basic shrapnel and burn wounds, blinded eye.

Extract shrapnel, clean, stitch the worst and apply bandaging.

Next.

Broken arm and fractured ribs. Set, painkillers, restrict patient movement.

Next.

Open pneumothorax. Occlusive dressing, chest drain.

Next.

* * *

"Go find those Ducal guys, Herman," Herman said in a high-pitched tone. "I can't seem to get a hold of them, Herman." He swung Amakatta, tearing into another oncoming wave of rebels. The bastards just kept coming.

"No, they're definitely not being slaughtered, Herman," he continued. "The rebels probably won't be led by other, very dangerous pirates, Herman."

His free hand- furred, clawed, and large as an average man's head- lashed out and grabbed the nearest rebel. "DOES THAT SOUND LIKE WHAT'S HAPPENING?" he roared in the man's face.

The poor bastard fainted. Herman grunted, and hurled him into a knot of his companions. Things broke.

Where the hell was his support? He'd lost three men already- two wounded, one dead- and he didn't want to lose more on this damn suicide mission! Hell, the way the rebels were swarming in a few moments they'd be...surrounded…

Herman gaped as a rain of flagstones, random weapons, and flailing bodies, all surrounded by a blue glow, swept down the street. He covered his head with his arms and braced for impact as the wave neared, but nothing happened. After long moments, he opened his eyes again.

The rebels- _all_ the rebels, and the few men with snake-eye symbols that were probably more pirate mercs- were down, crushed by the debris. His men, though, were perfectly fine.

"Hey buddy, mind coming over here so I don't have to shout?"

Herman looked down the street, to where the two familiar shapes, one long, one short, of the Boondocks Brothers loomed. "What took you fuckers so long?" he shouted back.

"You ever try to run with short legs? It isn't exactly easy!" the midget yelled back.

"Take a rest, dogman," the tall one said. "We've got this under control."

Herman glanced at his men. Two more were wounded- severely wounded, that is, there wasn't a one of them without some kind of gash or bruise- and the rest looked about ready to drop.

He nodded. "We're pulling back. Let the Guard hold here."

* * *

I resist the urge to snarl in rage as I smash another one of Clare's clockwork tendrils to pieces, only for the gears and cogs to vanish and for the limb to repair itself, the remaining five lashing out to block my tails from taking advantage of the momentary opening.

I knew the name of her Fruit- the Cog-Cog Fruit. Before, during the few sparring sessions she'd attended, she'd used it to generate gears and clock hands as shields and blades, nothing more. Clearly, she'd been holding back.

One of the clockwork limbs slips through the guard on my right side, stabbing into my chest before my tails coil around it and crush it to pieces. My counterattack rends open the armor over her abdomen, and blood trickles out before being replaced by oil and coppery fluid. Within moments, the tear is patched with a filigree of churning gears.

Can't hit her as hard as I'd like. Can't risk killing her. Even injuring her like this is risky. I don't know at what point she stops being able to transform or whatever else she's doing to stay in the fight...but she has to lose stamina at some point.

The problem is, between whatever injuries she's inflicting and the constant bleeding of my own self-inflicted gut wound...I'm starting to grow _hungry._

It's a race, between whether I can hurt her badly enough to knock her out of the fight, or whether I grow hungry enough that I won't _care_ about whether she stays alive or not.

Problematic.

I jump back, tails lashing out. " _Breath of the Dragon!"_

Clare staggers as the wind blades cut into her clockwork limbs, and I seize the opening, Shaving forwards and upwards.

Not to attack her. But to slash at Yugendo, still perched on the roof. The cloaked man dodges, but the quartet of slashes clips his shoulder, sending him tumbling down to the street below. Sadly, the bastard lands on his feet- though at least one of the legs attached to those feet bends in a direction it shouldn't with a loud _crack_. He raises his flute to his lips just as Maurice slams aside both of the Oni engaging him and lunges for me instead as I fall through the air. My tails block the blades of his knives and knock him aside into the facade of a building, just before Yugendo blows a single note, low and trembling.

I see, in slow motion, as Clare stops moving mid-throw, and reverses her grip on the blade she- oh _fuck_ no, Shave!

My tails lash out as I cannonball into Clare, smashing the clockwork limbs and the blade she'd been driving towards her own throat to pieces.

" _KANEKI'S WAKE-THE-HELL-UP SLAP!"_

My blow dents her helm, and she twitches.

And then screams in rage before kicking me in the balls. I add it to the tally of horrifically painful injuries and don't give her the satisfaction of reacting as she shoves me away, panting.

"What. The. Fuck!" she shouts, looking around wildly. "The fuck was- why is everyone asleep? What the fuck is going on?"

There's a series of dull thuds behind me. I glance back. Ah, one pile of mutilated meat in a black cloak and six unconscious Oni. Carry on.

"Asshole hypnotist," I say shortly, yanking the trench spike out of my gut. "Let's wake up these people and get the fuck out of here."

Her eyes harden behind her helm. "Lets."


	32. Chapter 56

Grenzer led the defense. First and Second Companies had entrenched themselves on one of the largest boulevards, a wide-open space flanked by rows of businesses and banks. It made a good killing ground, but the rebels- and the mixed-in pieces of Black Beard crewmen- didn't seem to care if they lived or died, and a vicious melee had developed as the two sides clashed. Grenzer was holding back, waiting to confront any who broke through. It was because of this that he saw the oncoming shape of the Butcher Bird long before anyone else- the boy was taking the rooftops at speed, tendrils coiled around unconscious shapes as he ran on all fours, betraying just how inhuman he was. Behind him came the armored form of the Gears' First Mate. Both ignored the battle below, skipping over the wavering lines of his men to approach Grenzer himself. Grenzer swallowed his annoyance at them not stopping to help, because behind _them_ , on the streets themselves, came a hundred and twenty annoyed pirates and mercenaries, who slammed into the attacking force of rebels like a hammer from God.

The boy hit the ground in front of Grenzer, and Grenzer looked him over as he dropped the six men- all wearing masks and all covered in blood- to the ground. The boy was red from the mid-chest down, and looked gaunter than he had but a few hours ago, eyes blazing behind the lenses of his mask.

"Report."

"Found your men. Hypnotist, second mate from the Black Beards, had them under some spell. Controlled your officer and Foglio, we had to fight them. When he was pinned, ordered them to kill themselves. Saved Foglio...by the time we could get to Spinola, he was dead. Tore the hypnotist apart ourselves."

Grenzer did not allow himself to react. Maurice...one of his best fighters, a man who'd been something close to a son to him, dead.

He choked down that grief and let it harden. "Understood. Are you combat-capable?"

The cannibal shrugged. "Give me a moment and some rebel corpses, I'll be fine. The Oni, and Foglio, not so much."

He nodded, and looked to where the battlefield had quieted, the Gears and the men of the Fourth Company taking up new positions and letting the battered soldiers of First and Second pull back. His eye picked out who didn't walk away.

Near a quarter of his men were dead or wounded. And Fifth and Third Companies had been mauled even worse. Meanwhile, the rebels didn't seem to have a limit to their numbers, only how many were willing to die at once.

He nodded again. "Take what you need. Then prepare to cover our retreat. You can handle that, yes?"

The ghoul cracked his neck. "Long as none of the enemy captains decide to show up, I'll do that just fine." He paused. "You sure we should fall back, though? Give up?"

"We're barely holding as it is, and there's traps and ambushes still behind us," Grenzer growled. "If the Doge wants to try and hold this place, let him, but it gives us nothing if we are torn apart little by little."

The ghoul nodded. "Understood."

As the ghoul walked towards the bodies, Grenzer dug a snail out of his pocket. "Get me Gabriel." The minute the connection cleared, he continued speaking. "Start pulling everyone back, both islands. Let the Ducal Guard hold their ground if they can, if not, prepare to provide covering fire for _their_ retreat."

"Understood," the bureaucrat on the other end of the snail replied calmly. "The Doge is pushing forward with his personal bodyguards. He should reach your position shortly."

"What is he- argh, fine, I'll deal with it. Just get our men and the other crews out of here. I'll command First, Second, and Fourth. Relay the retreat orders to everyone else."

"Yes, Field Marshall."

The connection clicked shut, and Grenzer returned the snail to his pocket before turning back to the soldiers. Almost three hundred men, counting the Gears.

And, judging from the oncoming hoofbeats, soon to be four hundred.

He turned back around as the Doge's cavalry thundered up the street. They were only half the number they should've been- but the Doge himself was at the head. The man reined up beside Grenzer.

Hm. His horse just about put him at head height with him.

"Where's the rest of your men, Doge?" he asked genially.

"Hunting rebels," the Doge snarled. "You've been outflanked."

"That implies we had any flanks to begin with," Grenzer said flatly. "Every single house seems to hide one of them, and they pop up at random. Your Majesty, we need to fall back."

"And lose everything we've gained?"

"When the Kriegers and the enemy leaders show their hand- and they will- we'll lose it anyway. We gain nothing by staying here."

"And we lose a great deal of territory and land that we will have to recapture again."

"Not so, Your Majesty. If we cannot hold it, we'll burn it."

"Burn- _these are my subjects, Grenzer!"_

"Not anymore, Doge. First Company! Second Company! Scourge and purge, fall back by platoons! Gears, Fourth Company, pull back to the bridges and dig in! Link up with larger formations as you go!"

The front lines exploded into activity as his men, well-drilled, moved into formation. Every one of his soldiers carried the means to start fires, and all of them were experienced with the denial of enemy assets from previous campaigns...campaigns that had earned him and his men their sizeable bounties. The Gears, less used to things, took a moment to orient themselves before simply running back down the street in the general direction of the bridge.

That left the ghoul alone. The man's tails lashed out, coiling around the broken body of a rebel and squeezing until a series of soft cracks echoed in the icy air. When the tail uncoiled, only some clothing dropped to the blood-slicked streets.

Despite all he'd seen, Grenzer found himself unable to look away as the ghoul repeated the process with a dozen corpses, gorging himself. He resolved to never let those tails touch him, or even go near him, ever again.

He turned back to the Doge. "I suggest you begin to fall back, Your Majesty. The Butcher Bird can hold the line well enough on his own."

The Doge glared at him, but turned his horse around.

* * *

The Steel Shields fell back in good order, Herman would admit. He'd expected them to be more of a mob, but they were doing pretty decently as they crossed the bridge.

He crouched beside the structure, catching his breath. Running across half a damned city and back took more out of him than he'd have liked to admit. At least it took even more out of his men, so he was still better than the best their little alliance of pirates, mercenaries, and fur-hatted soldiers had to offer.

He snorted. Gunsmoke, blood, ice, and far worse scents, all of it had filled his nostrils for hours. He could barely smell anything anymore, even if he bothered to shift form. Dangerous. His senses were one of his best-

His eyes widened as his cleared nose caught an acrid scent-

Ringing in his ears.

Copper in his mouth.

Herman coughed, the convulsive motion sending blood splattering on the ground and causing dirt and gravel to dig into his back through his armor. What had…

He coughed again, and felt something scrape at his ribs. He forced his eyes open, to find a very large chunk of metal sticking out of his chest.

Well.

The metal came free easily, shrieking against the edges of the hole it had punched in his breastplate. The tip of the metal chunk was wet with blood. He ignored it, and ignored his injuries, in favor of turning over and forcing himself to his feet.

What the hell had that been?

He looked at where the bridge had been.

 _Had_ been.

Okay. That explained why there had been a chunk of shrapnel in his chest.

Most of the Steel Shields had been on that bridge.

...shit.


	33. Chapter 57

Alexandrinov couldn't sleep.

From the windows of his study he could see the sullen red glare of the fires Grenzer's men had set as they retreated. At least it was too distant to hear the screams.

Thousands were assuredly dead.

Six hundred men and women, a third of them Steel Shields, most of the remainder Ducal Guard or Tercio mercenaries, had already joined them.

God, he hated this.

He walked over to his desk, pulling out the bottom drawer and extracting a bottle of something that was older than half the building. He rooted around, found a tumbler, and filled it to the brim. A third of it vanished in one burning swallow.

"I wouldn't drink the rest of that. Not healthful."

Alexandrinov set the tumbler down, not giving the man - _monster_ \- lurking in the shadows the satisfaction of knowing he'd been completely unaware of his - _its_ \- presence. The creature took a step forwards, eyes blazing.  
"You're here to kill me, I assume."

The ghoul chuckled. "Hardly. I'd just like some answers. And my captain's very curious about your old friendship with the asshole currently heading the rebellion." It cocked its head. "He's also rather annoyed that he's treating shrapnel wounds in a quarter of our men thanks to those same rebels, so he sent _me._ "

"I see. And my guards?"

"You yell for them, you won't have the time to regret it. I'm near to assuming you've started this war to kill off us pirates, Doge. Yelling for help will only confirm it."

Wonderful. The ghoul was paranoid as well as cannibalistic.

"Amico told you, I assume."

"You should hire assassins who are less mouthy, Doge."

"Clearly. So you want to know what my relationship with Roberts was?"

"That should be pretty obvious."

"Fine. How much do you know about the Archipelago's history? About the mines? About why it's so cold here?"

"I know you lot mine the shit out of the place to pay your way since it's too cold for crops. And that you love giving fancy names to a bunch of rocks."

"Wolframite. Cinnabar. Cadmium. Witch's Colbalt. Coal. Bronze, Red, White, Blue, and Black Spices. It didn't always mean the ground under our feet, Yoshimura. There are texts - ancient ones - that only I had access to. And they told me what this archipelago used to be like. It's supposed to be a Summer Island, did you know that? We grew flowers and plants, the _real_ Five Spices. And then...then we found the first outcroppings of Bronze spice. Centuries ago. And the mines began."

He laughed, a broken sound. "Things changed so slowly we barely even noticed...and by then, we had joined the World Government. To halt the work of the mines...we would have died, we had no other way to pay the Heavenly Tribute, and Turtle Bay was a pirate haven even then. Our people would have been slaughtered and our kingdom destroyed if not for the Marines and the promise of retribution. And so the mines continued. Smoke clouded our skies. And everything grew cold. And as the crops died it became more and more important for the mines to work, to pay the Tribute and to feed our people, and so we dug deeper and deeper still…"

He fell into his chair, running a hand along his unshaven face. "Roberts and I...we wanted to save this country. To find a way to fix things. But when I told him we needed to stop the mines...he became angry. He didn't understand - he had the power and the wealth to hire whoever he needed, we had generations of saving to arm an army that could stop anyone who wanted to plunder us, but he was afraid. He was afraid that it wouldn't be enough. And now he likely thinks having me dead is the only option, while he tries to find a solution that doesn't exist." He laughed again. "And we spend our fortunes hiring men anyway, not to protect our people but to kill each other. And all the while, our nation withers away, dying of the cold."

The ghoul was silent, eyes blazing in the dark. Alexandrinov slugged back the remainder of his drink, and stood. "But you wouldn't care about any of that, would you? Just like Grenzer, they're only bodies to you. Meat. Not even for soldiering, but just...just meat." He shoved the ghoul back. "Blood and treasure, that's all you care about, pirate, isn't it?"  
The ghoul didn't respond. Alexandrinov turned away from it. "If you have any faith or fear of God, end this war. God knows Grenzer won't. The man thinks in terms of death and iron."

"You could kill him."

"I am not Roberts. I have no power. Grenzer would murder me."

"So Roberts _did_ eat a Devil Fruit." Of course the creature's mind went to that.

"The Rock-Rock Fruit. Yes. A gift. Back when we were merely trying to keep our miners from dying to the Witch's Cobalt. And before you ask, no, the Boondocks Brothers are not enough to dismantle Grenzer's mercenaries. And the pirates. They'd die, and I'd follow as whoever the Brothers left turned on me." He held on to the edges of his desk. "So the best way - the _only_ way - is to let him do what he likes. Let him burn and slaughter my people. Because this way...this way, the war can end, and those who survive can carry on."

"Cold way to look at it," the ghoul said neutrally.

"Cold's in our bones, now, never to leave," Alexandrinov said, straightening and turning back to the creature. "Leave. Never speak to me again. And kill all those who oppose me."

The ghoul bowed, mockery in every motion. "As the Doge commands."

And then it was gone, only the creak of an opened window to indicate it vanishing.

* * *

" _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,_

 _Blood in the air, and the smell of gore,_

 _Hell's gate stands open, make ready your soul,_

 _For its bloodstained servant has come for his toll,_

 _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,_

 _The devil come calling to settle the score,_

 _Though you grovel or you cower, though you fight or you run,_

 _You'll only die tired, when the Butcher Bird's done."_

For what it's worth, it's a pretty nice song.

Winter's coming. Grenzer's ordered the crews to stand down. And the Ducal Guard, too. Command fell to him pretty quick after General Haig died. Bullet to the head, right as he was crossing the street in front of the Palace. Vinci was the one to nail the sniper. Poor bastard went into the Captain's labs, and never came out.

A week. A week of potshots and little skirmishes. Once or twice, always away from our officers, an enemy captain pops up, wreaks havoc, and then leaves. They either cross the river at night or sneak along the coasts in fishing boats.

That leaves a lot of us sitting around doing nothing.

Which is why I'm here, in the back end of this shitty bar, listening to someone sing a song about how evil I am.

God, the Captain never should've taken this job.

" _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,  
Feel the fear as it runs through your soul's very core,  
Repent for your sins, and dream of your grave,  
For death comes to all, be they coward or brave._

 _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,  
Look to the sky, where the black feathers soar,  
Will your sweet mother miss you? Will she shed you a tear?  
Speak your last words to the wind, for the Butcher Bird's here."_

Seems this guy - just some schlub with a guitar and a bit of talent - had started mocking our commanders. Easy enough, to be fair. We've all got reputations. And it wasn't a problem.

Until he'd gotten an audience.

Now Grenzer wants him 'dealt with'...and to my surprise, Vinci doesn't care.

I don't want to do this. He's an asshole, but he isn't deserving of death. But...a Captain's word is iron, on ship or off it. And this stupid, idiotic, pointless war wouldn't be helped to its end if people started being swayed to the rebel cause. And so I'm going to do it.

In disguise, naturally. Which, for me, means taking off my mask and donning a fur-lined coat like everyone else who lives on these rocks. Everyone else's faces are already known and most of the crew...Grenzer wants this done right. Which means an officer.

" _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,  
With marrow for bread, your blood I will pour,  
Your muscle as steak, your eyes as horderves,  
My dinner, your guts, my pasta, your nerves._

 _One tail, two tail, three tail, four,  
Don't hide little worms, don't make this a chore,  
Your fear is sweet fragrance, your heart pounds like a drum,  
Pray your end will be swift, for the Butcher Bird's come."_

I move out of the shadows, approaching the small band that's set up in the back of the little stage this bar has. None of them are playing at the moment - I think they're up next. I get the attention of the band's guitarist, a beefy-looking guy with cropped blonde hair and arms literally covered in tattoos. "You guys up next?" I say, keeping my voice low as the minstrel-guy moves on to another song.

The guitarist nods.

"Mind letting me in...and doing a little favor?"

The guitarist exchanges looks with the other three members of his band, before turning back to me. "Depends on what we get in exchange," he says, just as quietly.

I toss him a small bag. He opens it, sees the bills inside, and closes it. "Alright. Name your favor."

"You guys know the tune to 'The Blackheart Pirates'?"

Nods.

"Get ready to play that when I give the signal."

I get on the stage as the minstrel starts finishing up, taking bows and polite clapping. I add my own claps to the mix. Slow. Steady. And continuing as the other applause dies away. The minstrel turns around, confusion written on his face as I walk towards him. I grin.

"You do good work," I say, pitching my voice just right to carry as I clap the man on his bare shoulder. "But I'll confess…" -I let my eyes go black- "...you might be doing me and mine a bit of a disservice, mate."

It's actually a little satisfying to see the guy, who has two inches on me in height even if he's kinda reedy, go pale instantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the musicians I've recruited visibly decide 'fuck it' and continue getting ready to play.

"See, don't care too much about what you say about the rest of those pricks we work with. But I think it's important to have a clear understanding of exactly what my own boys are like, savvy? So, ladies and gents, let's correct that, shall we? Hit it."

The band starts to play, a rousing shanty that is known across half the world, albeit not under the same name.

The lyrics, though are my own.

" _There's a sickness on these oceans and I think it's plain to see,  
Just take one look around me boys and I bet that you'll agree,  
But it's far too late to save us, and it's got a hold of meeeeeee!  
That devilish old affliction called the scourge of piracy!_

 _Oh our captain is a madman, our first mate should be in chains,  
And if you choose to join our crew the devil gets your brain,  
But we're none of us complaining 'cause if caught we'd all be haaaanged!  
'Cause we're the Nightmare Pirates, and we're all of us insane!_

 _You know our ship's a creaky leaking tub we stole from the marines,  
But all the crewmates still agree, she's the vessel of our dreams,  
_

' _Cause she's unstable, cramped and battle-scarred, and she's starting to decaaaaaay!  
But the lot of us are just the same, and we won't trade her away!_

 _Oh our captain is a madman, our first mate should be in chains,  
And if you choose to join our crew the devil gets your brain,  
But we're none of us complaining 'cause if caught we'd all be haaaanged!  
'Cause we're the Nightmare Pirates, and we're all of us insane!_

 _Well our cook he's got a special, and he calls it "mystery meat",  
It's as tough as boiled leather and you'd swear it tastes like feet,  
Not a man onboard will eat it, but we still won't starve becaaauuuuse!  
We chuck it in the ocean and fish leap right into our jaws!_

 _Oh our captain is a madman, our first mate should be in chains,  
And if you choose to join our crew the devil gets your brain,  
But we're none of us complaining 'cause if caught we'd all be haaaanged!  
'Cause we're the Nightmare Pirates, and we're all of us insane!_

 _So if you see us coming, with our jolly roger high,  
Then stow away your gold and gems, and kiss your ass goodbye,  
But I'll tell you now me hearties, there's a chance you won't be suuuuuuuunk!  
_

' _Cause we're a band of fucking lunatics, a rowdy crew of thieving pricks, who should all be nailed to a crucifiiiiiiiix!  
But we'll probably all be drunk!_

 _Oh our captain is a madman, our first mate should be in chains,  
And if you choose to join our crew the devil gets your brain,  
But we're none of us complaining 'cause if caught we'd all be haaaanged!  
'Cause we're the Nightmare Pirates, and we're all of us insane!"_

The minute the last notes end, I Shave out through the door.

Really, all I'd needed to do was touch the guy. A couple days from now, as the contact poison on my glove works its way through his system, he'll sleep and never wake.

But hey...if you've got to do something you don't like...might as well make a good show.


	34. Chapter 58

"Come on, move it!" Lauren shouted, grabbing the collar of the nearest one of her allies - fuck, all this bunch were ex-Steel Shields, no wonder they were lagging, all the quick and deadly and brave ones had died with their captain - and practically dragging him along until his feet caught up and he started running again.

Hell, why were they sending _her?_ Skantarios had called in some crazy fight and asked for backup, and if the monosyllabic archer couldn't handle it _she_ wasn't going to do much better, much less the thirty or so mooks with her! They should've sent Kaneki or that creepy clock lady or...fuck, someone else who could take a bullet to the face and be fine. She was a sniper, not a brawl...er…

"Hooooly shit," she breathed, looking at the utterly devastated street. What the hell had happened here? Half the buildings were rubble, and the others had gouges crisscrossing them like a gigantic cat had taken an objection to their facade.

She pulled both of her carbines free of their leg holsters and spun them, cocking the levers. "Let's move, people," she said. "We've got an officer to find."

Improbable as it seemed, the destruction got worse the further down the street they went. Not just buildings - cloaked bodies, fallen Ranger Pirates, littered the stones. Some were still breathing, and the men with her quickly patched up what they could and started carrying the wounded back towards where the Captain and the other doctors could treat them.

Further still, and she began to see arrows, hundred of them, embedded in the stonework, and other projectiles - knives, hatchets, conveniently sized rocks - that Skantarios had obviously duplicated with his Fruit's power.

"Fuck, what the hell was he going up against?" she muttered as she kept moving. She kept a running mental count of the bodies they passed.

Rangers had had thirty-six people. Twenty-three so far were dead. Twelve wounded and living. That left Skantarios alone.

Fuuuuuuuck.

As she ran, she slotted the carbines back into their holsters and swung the anti-materiel rifle into her hands instead. If this was just one guy - and the complete lack of enemy corpses sure as hell pointed to that, the Rangers weren't _that_ weak - she wanted as much firepower as she could put into one gun.

She stopped suddenly, skidding to a halt.

The street ahead...was _gone._

The only thing left was a crater. In the center...a body, cloaked in a bloodstained grey cloak.

Her hand very pointedly did not shake as she yanked a snail out of a hip bag, sliding down the edge of the crater as she did so. "Found Skantarios."

" _Is he alive?"_ the dry, cold voice of that damn Tercio bureaucrat asked.

She looked at the man's body. His torso had been caved in.

"No."

"Any sign of the attackers?"

"There's a huge crater and at least half the buildings for blocks around are rubble or wishing they were, that count? Most of the Rangers are dead as well."

" _I see. You and your men should start searching, it could be that-"_ The sound of gunfire rattled in the background. " _Excuse me for a moment."_

The connection went dead. Lauren stared at the snail for a moment, before shoving it back into her hip bag. She turned back to the few guys - less than half a dozen - who weren't busy hauling the wounded back. "We're not going looking for a guy who just beat up an entire crew," she said. "We're going back to the river line. With none of the Rangers there there's a hole in our lines, and I'd bet anything that the rebels will try to exploit that. Let's get moving."

* * *

Pravilno looked shamefaced as he shuffled under Vinci's gaze. Or maybe that expression of worry and fear was due to the fact that Vinci's hands were still busy stitching up a gash across the chest of one of the Ranger Pirates.

"You should've come to me sooner," he said flatly, finishing the stitching. The man was unconscious, but he'd be fine.

Pravilno nodded.

"Right, then. Hold still." Electricity sparked between Vinci's fingers. "This is going to hurt _a great deal."_

It was quite interesting. He'd managed to figure out just how to realign a nervous system before the heart of his last test subject had given out. That was useful for Pravilno - otherwise he'd be here all day, and he just _knew_ there'd be even more patients before the day was done, even if the rebels weren't trying to make a push.

"Yiyiyiyiyiyyiyiyiyi," Pravilno went as lightning cascaded over his body from where Vinci was gripping the crown of his head. Vinci ignored it, as the tent flap opened, and one of the Steel Shields - only they carried those gigantic round shields - entered. The wannabe Viking looked at Pravilno, who was starting to twitch, and blanched. "I can come back later if you…"

"What do you want?" Vinci asked calmly, releasing Pravilno. The yakuza flopped to the dirt, pompadour smoking even more than the rest of his body. Hmm. Hair gel made for a good conductor, best remember that.

"I...uh…"

"Spit it out, I don't have all day."

"Got the men together...those of us who are left. Not enough of us to survive the Grand Line. We-"

"Yes, yes, join my crew. Go see Kaneki. He'll get you started on the basics so you don't all die."

"What- How did you-"

Vinci glared at the man. "Because you're weaklings at the moment, and weaklings tend to try to cozy up to the powerful. Lucky for _you_ , power is attained through training. And Kaneki is very good at training you until you reach his standards."

The ex-Steel-Shield gulped as Vinci loomed over him. "Gather your crewmates. Dismissed."

"Aye….Captain."

The man ran, fear-induced speed nearly as fast as a good Shave.

Pravilno groaned, and opened his eyes. "Whuh…"

Vinci grinned at him. "Get up, I didn't optimize your nervous system so you could laze about."

Pravilno jumped to his feet, then stared at his hands. Perfectly steady, of course. He wouldn't dare do shoddy work _again_.

* * *

Adolphus Gabriel was not a happy man.

He rarely was, if he was being honest with himself. Life was...a messy affair, overall. And in many instances, the addition of a war made it messier. He disliked messes.

No, he was rarely happy. The few moments in which he found happiness were in the resolving of messy situations. Whether that situation was a person and would be somewhat annoying to remove was immaterial to the fact that removing them was a good thing.

Grenzer gave him a great deal of opportunities to remove messes.

Even if he caused quite a few of them...well, it gave Gabriel more things to remove, and that was worth the trouble.

This particular mess, though...difficult.

Werth was currently engaging it on the first floor, amongst the dead of those Tercio soldiers who'd gotten in the way. The short man was tiring, though. And the assailant, someone dressed in a dark cloak and mask, clearly wasn't.

Gabriel's eyes tracked the assailant. The cloaked figure moved almost like one of the Nightmares, never still, always on the attack, flickering from place to place. But his movements were predictable- always, when he stopped, it was where he'd been looking before moving.

A trio of weighted needles sprung from his hands as the assailant blurred into motion again. The slim projectiles hit the top of a desk as the attacker swayed around them, and Gabriel frowned. Troublesome.

"Dammit, I can't find a heartbeat!"

Gabriel glanced back to where a pair of the Tercios skilled in first aid were attending to Grenzer. A trio of wounds - not bullet holes, too small for that - right over the heart, would have been enough anyway, but the attacker had also opened up the Field Marshall's guts before Gabriel had forced him away and down into the first floor.

This was going to end poorly.

Another flight of needles crossed from Gabriel to the attacker - too late to stop the cloaked person from weaving between the swings of Tromp's axes and opening the squat man's throat.

Hm.

Command would fall to Frederick, then.

Gabriel threw another quartet of needles, before diving for cover as a blade of air cut through where he'd been standing. The blade turned the medics to meat and drove Grenzer's body and the desk it was on into a wall.

He had to-

The attacker was suddenly _there_ , and Gabriel coughed as a single finger slammed into his chest with the force of a sledgehammer, passing between his ribs and crushing his heart. He felt the wall break under his flight, and despite the fact that everything was going cold, he grinned.

His fingers, clumsy and failing, closed around a detonator. Popped the cap, and pushed the button.

Half a ton of explosives received their signals as Gabriel smiled through the pain and his fading vision at the cloaked man who'd decimated them.

Then there was fire, and light….

And silence.


	35. Chapter 59

I stare at the smoldering ruins of what had been Grenzer's command center.

"...welp, we're fucked, aren't we?"

I whip my head around and glare at Gin, who barely even reacts. The zombie-like man just pulls a cigarette from somewhere in his coat and lights up.

"No," I growl. "Not yet. Someone please tell me there's security around the Doge, though."

"Already called it in. Boondocks Brothers and Kazrak aren't leaving his side." He looks at the rubble. "Who do you think could pull this off?"

"Roberts is the one with the earth fruit, right? Take out the foundation, whole building could fall apart."

"And he hit Skantarios and the Rangers earlier...hell, any of them woken up?"

"Nah."

"Shit. So no witnesses...we've still got no proof it was him." I look up at the sky. "Night's going to fall soon, and having a _fucking_ earth-mover behind our lines isn't a good idea. I'm going hunting. The rest of you, go back to the ship."

"You think you can take him?"

I smile. "Humans need to sleep. He'll get tired sooner or later, all I have to do is harry him until he's too exhausted to stand, whoever he is. And if it is Roberts, that fat bastard won't be doing much running."

"Fair enough. Stay safe, bird boy," Gin says quietly. "Come on, guys."

The small squad of Nightmares troops away, leaving me alone.

Inhale. Count to four. Exhale.

A quick Shave puts me up at the top of an undamaged house. I breathe deep.

The air smells like blood and ash. Not just the destroyed headquarters, but what was left of Zelenyy. Grenzer's men had done their work well, and much of the island, close-packed wooden housing, had gone up in flames. A terrible cost, and one the winds are still carrying, even over a week later. I sigh, my breath misting in the air.

Grenzer, for all his numerous faults, had been holding everyone together. Who'd hold the crews - fuck, what was left of them - together, now? Doppel...that man was a killer, plain and simple, and he didn't have a head for strategy. Frederick was the last Tercio commander, but he was a sniper and assassin, not a general. And Vinci...heh, Vinci could terrify everyone into place, but it'd do no good. It wouldn't hold.

I shake my head, clearing it of idle musings. It doesn't matter.

Only the hunt does.

* * *

There were a lot of sad noises coming from Lauren's cabin.

C didn't mind. It happened a lot. Usually when Lauren had a battle. Sometimes not, though. He was smart enough to know it was how people coped. The Captain did SCIENCE, the Bosun (and Herman, and Gin) drank foul-smelling alcohol things and then fought each other, Brother meditated, and Lauren went and ugly-cried in her cabin. It was the way of things.

C didn't have a coping mechanism. He thought. He liked eavesdropping, though. He didn't do it during daytime anymore. Brother told him not to, after he'd asked why Ostavila was praying so loudly in Pravilno's cabin.

So he did it at night when Brother wasn't around. That usually worked- though there was a lot more praying going on elsewhere. He'd learned to shut it out, it was annoying.

Brother was off hunting whoever'd hurt their allies. So he wouldn't be back for a while, and when he did get back he'd probably be either grumpy, hungry, or both, and just drink a lot of coffee rather than sleeping.

So C had the ship to himself for a while. And so he sat outside Lauren's cabin and listened.

The sobbing noises tapered off, and footsteps came. The door to the cabin slammed open, and Lauren stalked out.

And tripped over C's legs.

She went down hard, landing on top of C and driving the breath out of him for a moment. C grinned. "Hi!"

She pointed a gun in his face. C kept grinning.

"What. The hell. Are you doing," she growled.

"Listening," he said. "You sounded sad. I wanted to help, so I waited." He looked at the gun, going cross-eyed to do so. "Will shooting me make you feel better?"

Lauren froze. Then her face scrunched up kinda funny and she got off of C, the gun going into a hip holster. "Fuck," she said quietly. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"No, you're a person," C said.

Lauren laughed a little at that, before choking it off. "A pretty shitty person," she muttered.

"Not really. You're pretty nice."

Lauren sighed. "Want to keep talking on deck?" she asked. "Kinda stuffy in here."

C nodded.

They walked out into the cold air. Lauren shivered. She wasn't wearing her long coat. No wonder she was cold.

C pulled off his coat - well, it was his now, it had used to belong to one of the rebels (who'd tasted really good) but now was his; it was a good coat, thick and warm copper-colored leather, only a little bloodstained near the collar - and gave it to Lauren, who wrapped it around herself.. He was proud of the shot he'd made, the man had hardly bled at all when his ball bearing had hit him between the eyes. But the crew came first, Brother had told him that. And Lauren was a very important part of the crew.

Lauren pulled it close around herself with a wordless sound of thanks.

Things were quiet for a bit. C looked at the sky. There weren't many stars out tonight. The clouds were too thick.

He wondered if it would snow again. It had on the day with all the presents that got people excited (Brother called it Christmas, but C hadn't asked why it had that name, and until he knew the why of it he wouldn't use the name). Snow would make hunting difficult...hard to move quietly in it.

"...I think I'm a bad person," Lauren said quietly.

C looked at her. "Why?"

"Why do you think? I've killed...I don't even know how many. And it's not like with Machitus, or with those pirates that attacked us, these are just ordinary people, and I've shot them down by the dozens..."

"You feel bad about it?"

"Of course I do! Hell, I'm only here because the Captain decided to take this job, I just...I don't like killing people who don't deserve it."

C shrugged. "Then you aren't that bad. I have rules, Brother has rules too. You have bigger rules, and you don't want to break them. They want to hurt you, hurt the crew, and you can't stop that. So you have to stop them, until they don't think they can hurt you anymore."

"That simple, huh."

"Things don't have to be complicated."

"What are your rules, C?"

"Don't hurt the crew. Don't hunt for anyone that doesn't deserve it. Brother determines who deserves it, not the Captain. Fight anyone who tries to hurt the Crew, they can be hunted no matter what. Listen to the Captain and the Bosun and whoever they tell me to listen to. Stay alive. Be a good crewmate. Easy rules."

Lauren exhaled, sending a cloud of mist out. "You don't care about anyone else."

"Why should I? They aren't crew. They're important to other people, but they aren't crew, so they aren't important to me."

She gave him a look. "You're a strange person, kid."

"I am a ghoul. Of course I am strange. If I was not strange, there would be a lot more to worry about."

She sighed. "Things aren't that simple, C. These are _people._ Human beings. And...hell, they just want a better life. I mean, people like the Black Beards, they're pretty bad, I can deal with that, but...there's a big difference between taking down some pirate asshole and killing some kid who's just trying to fight for what he thinks is right."

C cocked his head. "How? They're both trying to kill you. The other pirates are better at it, though. What's being fought over doesn't really matter."

Lauren got another weird expression. "You really think that, kid?"

C shrugged. "Lying is bad, so yes."

"Feh. Guess you've got a point. No real way to get around it."

"You could just stay on the ship and do nothing," C pointed out.

"What, no pep talk about how I shouldn't feel anything?"

"You do. Why would I tell you not to?"

Lauren leaned on the rail. "Can't stay on the ship. Might feel bad about the kids, but the crew...it'd be a lot worse if they got hurt because I was too chickenshit to go out and fight. I don't…."

C stopped listening, because he'd seen a glimmer of red approaching _Ends Justified_ very quickly. Brother hit the deck, rolled, and sprang to his feet.

"Hi, Brother!"

Brother grunted, before looking at Lauren. "Captain awake?"

"How the hell should I know? He practically sleeps in his lab now."

"Can't find the bastard who tore up Grenzer and his men. Trail's gone cold. There's some crazy powerful guy wandering around the city and I can't find him, I've got no idea where he-"

There was a very large explosion off in the distance.

Brother sighed.

"I think that was where Doppel and the Gears were bunking down for the night shift," Lauren provided. "I'll go get everyone up and armed. You think you can-"

"Yeah. Come on, C."

C followed him over the rail and out into the night.


	36. Chapter 60

The Gears hadn't set up in one building- they'd divided themselves up, leaving a skeleton crew on their ship for most of the day and setting up in...think it was a hotel at first. Either way, they swapped out regularly.

And right now, the multi-story building was a complete wreck, half of the building utterly demolished. Same way as with Grenzer's...a bit more shrapnel, some remnants of earth scattered around, but much the same otherwise. From the rooftop I can see several of the pirates running around, digging others out of the rubble and doing their best to help the wounded.

I look to C. "You picked up first aid, right?'

He nods.

"Good. Lend a hand. I'm going to go look for the captain."

"Maybe he's dead."

"Well in that case things are going to go to shit, aren't they?"

"Haven't they already?"

I give C a _look_ , and turn away, scenting the air. Doppel...well, even with the hundred-odd people below running about, I know his scent well enough to track him.

Top floor of the hotel. In the non-destroyed half, small mercies. Bit of a jump…

My tails coil under me and launch me upwards and forwards, high into the air. A quick use of Moon Walk turns that upward motion into a sideways one, and I hit the battered carpeting and roll, springing back up to my feet quickly.

More blood. Not visible, but the scent is there, as well as something...coal ash, I realize a moment later. Curious.

"Don't you goddamn die on me!" a voice says, coming from one of the nearby rooms.

Well, that tells me quite a lot already.

I might be getting slightly numb to seeing dead allies. Or dead people, period. I lope forwards, entering the room the voice is coming from.

Clare, her helmet off, is crouched over the bloody body of Doppel, frantically trying to bandage his injuries. I take in the state of the place- probably had been pretty glitzy, but a fresh coating of blood and several chunks of stone really aren't the best interior decorating methods- as I walk towards them.

That's definitely a lot of broken bones. And I don't think a torso is supposed to cave in like that. But despite that, I can see him breathe and hear his heartbeat. Still alive.

I tap Clare on the shoulder. The Gear first mate whirls, almost snarling before seeing it's just me.

There are no words. There don't need to be.

I simply pick up Doppel carefully, and run like hell for the _Ends_ and my Captain.

* * *

Gin was tired.

Hell, they all were. Nobody liked being woken up in the middle of the night due to some crazy bastard going around ganking all the crew's best fighters.

To be honest, he was a little surprised it had taken Roberts- and it _was_ Roberts, the fat bastard had been seen by enough people before retreating when Doppel had levelled half the building- this long. Three crews, one after the other, in less than twenty-four hours? Why hadn't he done it sooner?

Fuck it. Wasn't his job to figure that out...heh, wasn't anyone's job, with pretty much every actual commander dead now.

He yawned, partly out of just being tired...and partly to drown out the noises that were coming from the surgery tent.

A dozen or so healers and surgeons...yeah, not exactly quiet. No matter how much he wanted it to be.

Two things he was grateful for, then: the first that he'd managed to grab some fruit from the kitchens, to distract himself with, and the second that his life had made him jaded enough he wouldn't even consider losing his appetite over hearing what was going on a short distance away. He wished the same could be said for all the others assembled outside the surgery tent. Even Jack was looking a little green, but none of them wanted to leave.

Gin wasn't an idiot, he knew when a war was going to be won or lost.

Whether Doppel pulled through or not...that'd determine what his Captain and what the surviving crews did. Whether they pulled up stakes and left the Doge to rot, or whether they kept on.

Personally, Gin kinda hoped it'd be the former. The Nightmares had been unbelievably lucky- any other crew, spread out like they'd been, would've been torn apart by now. That luck wasn't likely to hold much longer, and even though he knew that pound for pound they were probably the toughest, meanest sons of bitches on the island...there were tough bastards all around on the other side, and a _lot_ more of them then there were Nightmares.

The shouts from within the surgery reached a fever pitch, and Gin hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes and pulling the apple he'd grabbed from under his coat. Focusing on that'd make it a lot easier to deal with-

 _Sweet Kami above this thing tasted horrible._

Gin's eyes shot open as he gagged, dropping the fruit on the hard-packed earth. "What the hell is wrong with-"

He cut himself off as he saw the fruit.

The fruit that, though it had been perfectly ordinary when he'd picked it up, was now covered in spirals.

He knew how Devil Fruits worked, better than most thanks to what tidbits the Captain had shared. That meant…

The surgery tent was silent now, he realized.

Gin looked up, meeting the eyes of Foglio Clare, wide behind her armor's visor.

Ah, hell.

"No no no no…" Clare said, barely audible as she backed up. "He can't be."

 **"He is."**

Gin looked to the tent entrance as his Captain strode out, back ramrod straight and eyes glowing like lanterns.

 **"I have had enough of this,"** his captain said, words echoing, reaching into Gin's mind and branding themselves into his brain. **"We have lost too much. Far too much. I am tired of this petty, pointless conflict, tired of healing the maimed and injured. I have failed in my duty, and I will not allow that to happen again. Kaneki, Jack. Take twenty men, and kill the Fishmen. Gin, Lauren, C, take the Oni, thirty men, and the Gears, and deal with the Kreigers. Herman, take the rest, and slaughter the Poison Fangs. I will deal with Roberts."**

Gin bowed, all of his fatigue vanishing in the face of that simple command. Others were...less willing.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Wallenstein asked, the Tercio commander stepping forwards with a hand on his sabre's hilt.

Vinci's expression, didn't shift in the slightest as he turned his head to watch the man. **"You will take your men and guard the Doge and the Palace with all the means at your disposal. I do not care if you want to dispute my commands, because you will follow them regardless. If you do not, I will kill you."** His captain turned away from the man, looking up at the stars for a moment. **"It is time to end this,"** he said dispassionately. **"You have your orders. Go."**

Gin went.

* * *

Winter, Paren Obrchennyy decided, was a bitch.

This wasn't just because winter on the Archipelago meant that anyone outside at night would probably die unless they had a large fire to huddle near. It was also because it made his job, namely guarding the riverbank, much harder. After all, if everyone could just head across the ice, they couldn't just set up near the one intact bridge, now could they? So now he was shivering in a tiny little guard post, just far enough back from the river that the small fire he had going wasn't visible, waiting to see if anyone passed by.

At least the Revolutionary Leader had gone to finish the fight. He'd seen the man return, and though he hadn't said anything as he walked back to his home, Obrchennyy knew the Leader had been victorious.

Soon, the war would be over, the Doge would be dead, and they'd be able to...dispose of the pirates and mercenaries, leaving the Archipelago free again.

He hoped the Leader had left some of the Tercios alive. He owed them a debt of blood- he'd lost a sister to the fires they'd set during their failed assault.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He whirled, raising his rifle to cover the section of street. Nothing.

He could've sworn he'd seen a flash of something...dark against the snow. What had it been?

With shaking fingers, he pulled the bayonet from his belt and locked it into place on the end of his rifle. Whoever it was, he'd have another thing coming if he thought-

 _Crunch._

Behind him-!

The rifle stopped dead mid-thrust, and Obrchennyy looked up, to see a hand effortlessly holding the barrel still, and a masked face. The mask looked like some bird, blood-covered and with baleful red eyes.

"Boy, that the best you got?" the owner of the mask- oh God no, the Butcher Bird, please God no- said softly. Then he smiled, his grip tightening and deforming the barrel of his rifle. "Your best won't do. You're among wolves...and these are our woods now."

The last thing Obrchennyy felt and saw was a sharp pain in his chest, and the merest flash of red.


	37. Chapter 61

The Kreigers.

A big mercenary company. Most mercs worked as one outfit, moving together, growing or shrinking as casualties and new recruits balanced out. The Kreigers were different- they handed out battalions like candy, splitting them up as they pleased to serve dozens of clients at once. They were disciplined, almost fanatical even, well-equipped, and very well-trained, especially if they were fighting in urban conditions like this.

Kill zones, overlapping fields of fire, grapeshot-loaded cannon, lines of rifle men, earthwork walls, a thousand-strong force that had turned a public park into a fortress that could break any army on the planet.

And, Eka reflected idly as his cleaver-like dao turned a cluster of infantrymen into a screaming mess, it still wasn't enough to stop them. Not even close.

The Kreigers were brave, sure, and they fought to the last...but the combined force of the Gears and Nightmares had hit them hard and fast, the members of the night watch dead before they could do much more than scream, and before the soldiers could even fall into formation the slaughter had started. Order and discipline were of no help when your opponent could move faster than you could aim your rifle, or could simply ignore the bullets, or was just that much _stronger_ in close quarters.

And so they died. Bravely, stubbornly, screaming their defiance, but they still died.

Eka ran forwards, a quick Shave taking him inside the reach of another Kreiger infantryman, and swung-

His blade was halted by another, a sabre. Eka leapt back, taking in his new opponent while the kid he'd almost decapitated decided discretion was the better part of valor and booked it. Tall, wearing the same dark blue uniform and peaked cap the Kreigers favored, carrying a sabre in his hands.

Nine other men, nearly identical, were striding onto the battlefield beside him.

Ah. The Kreiger's company commanders, then. He'd heard about them. Tough guys.

Eka grinned behind his mask, and hit the toggle.

Aches and pains vanished, his body shivering as energy filled him to his fingertips. He raised his dao to the night sky and _howled_.

His pack answered.

The Oni went to war.

* * *

The Bell-Bell Fruit, she'd called it as they ran to fulfill his Captain's orders.

A hasty explanation on its powers, how it worked- basically, it allowed him to use his powers like the clapper in a bell, causing vibrations to ripple through whatever he touched. He'd been a little surprised she was giving that much up freely, rather than being pissed at him- he knew _he'd_ be, in her place.

Then he'd seen her turn into a mass of threshing clockwork and turn a platoon of Kreigers into mulch the moment the slaughter had started, and he'd realized that she was just turning her anger somewhere else.

Probably afraid of the Captain if she took it out on him, heh.

He swayed around a Kreiger's desperate bayonet charge with Paper Art, his tonfa coming around and crushing the back of the guy's skull in the process. The soldier flopped to the ground, joining the sixty or so others scattered at Gin's feet. Gin straightened up, and took stock for a moment. Several more Kreigers were waiting, a loose ring of opponents, but none of them were willing to get into close quarters and they'd quickly learned that attempting to shoot him was a waste of ammo thanks to Paper Art. He flipped his tonfas under his arms, and lit a cigarette, drowning out the smell of blood and bodies. The Kreigers tensed. Gin smiled.

"Well?" he asked, letting the smoke wreath his face. "You going to do something or just stand there like a pack of idiots?"

"Stand aside, men."

The man who approached now was twice the height of everyone present, Gin included. He wore a slightly better version of the blue coat and trousers of his soldiers, with epaulettes of rank, and was bald as an egg. Metal gauntlets covered his fists.

Gin cocked his head. "Know your face," he said shortly, flipping the hafts of his tonfas back into his hands with the ease of long practice. "Armstrong 'Bloodied Fist' Charles. Second-in-command of the battalion, ain't that right?"

"You would be correct, pirate. It is fitting you know who will kill you, isn't it?"

Gin shrugged. "Suppose so. I'm Gin, then."

The big guy paused. "Ohohohohoho," he said with a smile. "You've got a wit on you, pirate. Men, go help in the defense. This one is mine." The Kreigers ran. Gin let them.

"Before the fighting starts, one question," he said.

"Ask."

"You're mercenaries. Why not turn to the other side? You outnumber everyone except the actual rebels, and that rabble wouldn't hold up for long against your men. So why not pack it in now, take some money from the winning side?"

"Would you do the same, in my place?" Charles asked.

Gin shrugged. "Guess not. Let's do this."

"Right." The man dropped into a boxing stance. "Prepare yourself, pirate. My techniques have been passed down my family line for gene-"

" _Destructive Frequency: Bone."_ Gin Shaved forwards, a single tonfa swinging upwards. " _Exorcism,"_ he said, as the tonfa hit the man in the fork of the legs.

His technique wasn't great- enough backlash vibrated back down the steel handle to make his own arm ache- but it didn't have to be. Gin dodged to the side as the big guy collapsed, clutching at his abused nether regions. Pelvis probably fractured, as well. Hmph. He'd expected more.

The big guy slammed a fist into the ground. It left a crater. Then he got to his feet, eyes filled with murder.

Why the hell did he have to go and taunt fate like that? He should've learned from the fact Krieg had yelled 'nothing can stop us now' when they'd gone over Reverse Mountain! The bitch was always listening!

" _Iron Storm!"_

Gin wove around the blows, trying desperately to keep the relaxed, centered mindset Paper Art demanded as the enraged behemoth pressed onwards. Every dodge was accomplished with millimeters to spare, each killing blow barely evaded, as Gin waited for his opening.

He found it, as the man overextended, just a little, enough that it left an opening. Gin jumped and let his power extend out, pushing it into both ends of his tonfas as they struck at Charles' head.

" _Death Knell,"_ he said flatly, as they slammed into the man's head from both sides. The shockwave rattled down Gin's bones, and he bit back the urge to scream, but the big man fell to his knees, blood leaking from ears, nose, and mouth. Gin got out of the way as the man fell to earth again.

This time, he didn't get up.

Feh. He almost missed Sanji. Fights these days were over too fast.

* * *

Private First Class Toterman Zufuss was regretting being born.

It was simple- he couldn't regret joining the Kreigers, because nobody _didn't_ join the Kreigers on the isle of Brandenburg. To make war was his people's way of life! Everyone joined the Kreigers, once they turned fifteen. Everyone went to war. It was what made Brandenburg strong, what paid the fees to keep them in the World Government. How could he regret joining, when everyone did?

He couldn't regret coming here- the decision had not been his. Mars Mal, their commander (and beauty and leader and hard-edged ice queen) had made it. It was to be a good testing ground for her new battalion and new command. Everyone had agreed, eager for the battles to come.

He couldn't even regret being in this fight- because hell, he had no control over if the enemy wanted to make a suicidal run into their territory. It had to be suicidal. No matter what, they would've heard the gunshots if they'd actually fought all the rebel formations around their base, and the moment those thousands of men and women mobilized this small force would be caught between hammer and anvil. It had to be a suicide run, they couldn't have fought all those people silently, right?

But regardless, there was nothing in his life to regret, as he stood shoulder to shoulder and poured lead at the slender, approaching figure, working the bolt of his rifle frantically as she dodged every shot aimed at her...as his friends and comrades fell around him to the hails of bullets coming from that approaching figure, he could regret nothing, for he'd never made a decision to be here and now…

And so he regretted his birth on Brandenburg, the start of the path he was on now, and kept firing, even as he heard the distant roar of the battalion's ammo stores going off and the screams as the Kreigers fought and bled and died.

Dammit, if they could just _hit_ the bitch-!

A small, dark object flew from the woman's hands, thudding at Zufuss's feet, and the Kreiger line broke as they scrambled away from the grenade. Zufuss froze, then threw himself on the grenade, knowing that there was no way he could get away, but maybe he could stop it from-

A cloud of smoke surrounded him instead, and after a few moments, Zufuss stood back up, legs trembling slightly as the fact that he was still alive registered. He panted, peering through the purplish fog the grenade had emitted. He couldn't see anything. Where...where had everyone gone?

Something moved in the fog. Zufuss tried to raise his rifle, only to find that his arms and legs wouldn't obey him, locked into place as the shape drew closer, gaining more definition by the second.

Zufuss had always hated centipedes. There'd never been a reason for it, they'd just looked horrifying.

The woman who approached was covered in them. No, she _was_ one. No, she was _made_ of them-

Zufuss realized he was making a small keening sound as the _thing_ drew closer and closer.

It reached out a hand- a claw- a writhing limb of insects- towards his face, and Zufuss froze, heart pounding.

It touched him, and then there was pain-

And then nothing.

* * *

Lauren kept her gorge from rising as she yanked the hatchet free. The Kreiger flopped to the ground.

Her breath hissed past the gas mask.

Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. She was in control here.

The hallucinogens were doing their work. The Kreigers that weren't frozen in terror were either running, or trying to kill each other, and the cloud was spreading through the camp. Everyone on _their_ side knew to avoid it, and she had some counteragents for anyone who was stupid enough not to listen, but the Kreigers weren't so lucky.

She just wished the work wasn't so messy, but she didn't have a choice. She didn't have enough bullets to make things clean. C might've been able to handle a bunch of kills at once, but last she'd seen of him, he was impaling Kreigers on their own bayonets, and the fighting had separated them.

She moved on, checking the loads of her carbines. Six shots in the left, eight in the right. She had enough bullets for two more twelve-round reloads in each, but those would take time. Pain in the ass…

None of the Kreigers that she could see were in any shape to fight. She'd have to-

The only warning she had was a whisper of movement in the purple smoke. She jumped to the side- it saved her life as bullets lanced through the cloud and where she'd been standing. How the hell had they-

She lunged forward as more distortions formed, grateful that she'd spent so much time training her reflexes since the Gala. If she'd been slower, she wouldn't have even been able to tell the bullets were headed her way.

The bullets kicked up sprays of dirt, and she juked to the side, hands raising her carbines and firing both back in the direction they'd come from. Five and seven. The levers clicked and clacked as she rotated both the carbines, feeding new bullets in, and she changed tack, crossing her own path. Just as she'd thought, the bullets cut in the direction she'd first been running.

Whoever this person was, they must've had very good hearing. She would've snarled, if she wasn't worried they'd hear _that_ as well.

Another quartet of bullets lanced ahead of her, only avoided by a frantic use of Paper Art, and she snapped off two more shots. Four and six left. Then she burst clear of the gas, and saw her opponent.

Her face was obscured by a full-face gas mask, but the cut of her dark blue coat, the double-barreled pistols in her hands, and the twin straight sabers at her hips gave her away. Mars 'Cutlass Lass' Mal. Commander of the Kreigers.

Fucking _wonderful._

* * *

Mal, despite everything, was liking what was going on.

This? _This_ was a battle, not the pussyfooting around Roberts had insisted on. This was war, red and bloody, and she loved every minute of it.

She grinned at her opponent, discarding her pistols- the damn revolvers were out of ammunition anyway- and putting hands on her beloved blades.

Cutlasses. And anyone who called them sabres would feel them rammed into their guts, oh yes.

The girl was angry, she could tell. It was all in the eyes, and the hands. The former were glaring over the girl's gas mask and the latter were on the grips of her carbines, so she was probably...mildly upset, at least.

Mal laughed. "You're a toughie, ain'tcha? Never seen someone dodge bullets before, but you walked right through 'em!" Her grin widened as she bared her sabres, not much, a lady never revealed all at once, but an inch of steel on each side. The other girl's carbines twitched upwards, not quite lining up with Mal, but moving so that a flick of the wrist would do that.

Interesting. She could feel the tension, like lightning. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

One wrong move, and this girl would have her dead.

She'd never felt so alive.

"Come on," she growled, baring two more inches of steel. "Let's see what you're made o-"

The girl _moved_ , crossing the space between them in an instant, and Mal drew her blades, catching the overhead strike of her opponents hatchet between them inches from her face. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she felt her knees nearly give way under the force. What the hell? The girl was scrawnier than her, how on earth was she this strong?

"You don't talk much, do ya?" she taunted. "You should be more personable, you know. Makes people like you."

The other girl said nothing. Then again, the gun in her other hand pressing against Mal's belly said volumes. Mal grinned at her.

The girl didn't pull the trigger. The hatchet pressed down, and Mal's arms trembled, but the girl still didn't pull the trigger.

"What's the matter?" Mal asked, syrup-sweet. "Don't have the guts to gut-shoot me?" She laughed. "Come on, girl. This is a war. Do it! Pull the fucking trigger, or I'll kill you and finish off your allies next. Do it! Pull the god-damned-"

 _Blam._

Mal staggered as a spike of white-hot pain ripped into her gut, falling to one knee. Blood trickled past her grin, dripping to the ground. " _Argh..._ good. You've got balls," she said.

Pain didn't matter. Blood loss was unimportant. Only the fight mattered.

"Got guts," she growled, getting back to her feet, feeling strength shivering down her limbs as her vision turned _red_. The girl was backing away.

" _NOW LET'S TEST IT!"_ Mal shouted, before lunging forwards. " _ENFILLADE!"_

The cutlass in her left hand chopped into the girl's hatchet just below the blade, leaving her holding a wooden stick. The one in her right took her opponent's left arm off at the shoulder.

The girl screamed, dropping her hatchet to press a hand to the gushing wound, and the blade in Mal's left hand swooped down to end her-

Only for a massive impact to send her flying back, bouncing twice off the ground before something broke her flight.

Mal groaned, cataloguing her injuries. Broken ribs, what felt like a cracked skull, left arm was tattered with splinters and at least two breaks...ugh.

The red in her vision dulled the pain, though, and so she staggered back to her feet, glaring around.

There was the fucker. Looked like a zombie, sunken eyes and all, but those cannonball-tipped weapons were the only thing she could see that could've hit her that hard. The blunt things rotated slowly as the new man watched her.

Mal spat blood on the ground, and grinned at him, a distant part of her noting that the girl had run away. She didn't matter, though. Only the man in front of her did.

It caused screaming pain, but she managed to lift her left arm to her mouth, letting her teeth take up the job of holding on to that blade. She grinned around her weapon's hilt as the rotation of her opponent's tonfas increased, subtle distortions forming around the cannonballs.

Mal charged.

The man ran to meet her.

" _ENFILLADE!"_

" _DEATH KNELL!"_

There was a terrible ghastly noise.

There was a terrible ghastly silence.


	38. Chapter 62

_"White Fang!"_ Herman shouted, swinging Amakatta forward. The blade of air cut down a squad of rebel infantry, their blood steaming in the night air. For a moment, there was relative silence, and he took the chance to look around.

Dammit, he shouldn't have let Jack and Gin have the first pick of the crew. He'd been stuck with the damn Steel Shield recruits, and while their _captain_ had been a hell of a fighter, he hadn't passed much of that strength on to his crew. The Steel Shields _tried_ , but they didn't have stealth, or speed, or strength like the rest of the crew did. Kaneki would fix that.

If the poor bastards survived, that was, with how their inability to kill whoever they came across _quickly_ was stirring up the hornet's nest. Nobody had been _seriously_ hurt yet (well, nobody on their side, the rebels were thoroughly dead) but it was only a matter of time.

Dammit, they needed to find the Poison Fangs, not waste time fighting these delusional shitheads. They were almost where the crew was said to bunker down…

He realized everyone was staring at him. Waiting for orders.

He groaned internally. He was good at breaking things, not leading people. "Keep moving," he growled, marching onwards. "We've got a lot to do."

The men exchanged glances, and then fell in behind him. A couple looked back at the bodies - not in concern, but calculating whether it was worth the time to loot the corpses of whatever of value was on them. Not likely. The rebels were poor as dirt, a far cry from their leaders. And they didn't have the time to pillage.

He held up a hand, halting the group, before pointing forwards. The Poison Fang Jolly Roger was an ugly thing, a snake's head with fangs bared, splashed in green paint on the side of a bombed-out building.

The pirates arrayed in front of it were pretty ugly, too.

They were definitely Poison Fangs - not just because they looked like tougher customers, but because a good two-thirds of them were wearing snakeskin jackets that truly redefined the meaning of 'fashion disaster'.

No taste whatsoever. Had none of them heard of the color black?

Amakatta seemed to purr in his hands as he grinned at the enemy. "Nice night for a little bit of fun, isn't it?" he said lightly. "Boys? Let's kill them all."

The Fangs didn't even have the chance to pull triggers before the Nightmares were on them, quick, economical uses of Shaves taking them right into melee range. Finger Pistols, Impact Dials, and Tempest Kicks cut them down where they stood. Herman held back from the brawl, waiting.

The brawl shattered down the middle as a tall, very thin man with the double-jointed arms of the Long-Arm Tribe cut down two of his boys with the scimitars in his hands, bursting through the Nightmare crew.

Herman lunged forward, Amakatta cutting downwards and slamming into the Long-Arm's hasty guard. "Laskaris 'Acid Breath' Vehrlovoss," he said with a grin as he pressed downward. The crossed scimitars held, but the Long-Arm took a step back.

A distant part of Herman's mind noted that the battle was separating around them both, forming a makeshift circle.

"Bosque 'Berserker Hound' Herman," the Long-Arm shot back, grinning just as widely. "Shall we?" The Long-Arm shoved upwards and dodged to the side, barely avoiding Amakatta as it swung back downwards. The enemy captain's arms whipped around, and Herman snarled as a stinging line drew itself across his bicep. Amakatta crashed back into the man's guard, chopping off one of the scimitars at the hilt and sending the Long-Arm flying into a nearby building.

"Captain!" came the cry from the assembled Poison Fangs. Herman swung his sword. The whining was replaced by gurgling noises and screaming. Much better.

The dust stirred, and Herman dodged to the side as a gigantic scaled head ripped through the air, followed closely by the rest of the serpent's gigantic body. Amakatta scraped and sparked against greyish scales, and Herman threw himself flat as the tail whipped through the air at head height.

Fast. _Very_ fast.

The massive serpent coiled up, the other fighters - mostly Nightmares now - making room for it. It was grey-scaled, lighter on the belly, and its head was larger than Herman's entire body. It _smiled._

"Not many can force me to use this form," Vehrlovoss rasped. "Congratulations...now _die._ "

Herman barely had time to put Amakatta between him and the snake before it _moved_ and a scaled head hit him at speeds he couldn't even _see_ , sending him hurtling back.

A building crumpled around him, and he lay there for a moment among the rubble, breathing heavily.

This...might be a problem.

* * *

Power.

That was what the world ran on.

That was what Vehrlovoss loved.

Power. Not gold or beri, not weapons or a rabble of weaklings to surround him, but his own, incomparable _might._

The Snake-Snake Fruit: Black Mamba Model. _That_ was power. Power enough that the white-clad warriors who'd swept his weakling minions aside found themselves helpless. Techniques and blades of air failed to penetrate his scales. Fire barely scorched him. Only their impact techniques - probably stolen from Happo or something - had any real effect, and even that was barely more than a bruising blow, easy enough to absorb by simply letting his flexible body move with the impacts.

He grinned as his tail whipped through the air, smashing those who weren't fast enough to react away. His body coiled up as someone lunged at his head with a palm strike waiting, then snapped back down. The unfortunate man wriggled on the way down.

" _Cujo. HOWL!"_

The black-furred hound that rocketed down the street was to dogs what Vehrlovoss himself was to snakes, its shoulders nearly half the height of the buildings. It bulled into him, fangs and claws trying to grab hold, but skittering off his steel-hard scales.

Vehrlovoss reared back, and struck. His fangs buried themselves into the hound's shoulder, pumping venom into its veins before the creature howled and managed to throw him off. Drops of the venom spilled from the tips of his fangs, hissing as they ate pockmarks into the cobblestones.

The hound shrank, fur turning back into clothing as the enemy Zoan shifted back to human form. Vehrlovoss's fang marks stood out, branded into the man's shoulder, leaking greenish poison.

He smiled at Bosque. "You have ten minutes. At best. After that, my poison will stop your heart." His tail flicked through the air, decapitating a trio of white-clad attackers.

Bosque's glare of hatred was excellent. He loved it when the people trying - and failing - to kill him were filled with wrath. It made them stupid.

" _White Fang!"_

The attack deflected off Vehrlovoss's head, the winds dissipating harmlessly. He chuckled. "You'll have to do better than that. I doubt you can cut steel properly, after all." He'd already discounted the destruction of his poor scimitar. Honestly, he went through those things like popcorn anyway. Cheap steel, and all that. If he ever found a named blade that was actually not another damn katana variant, he'd snap them up in a heartbeat.

Pity that Bosque's giant hunk of metal was one of those. It was a pretty nasty piece of work, Vehrlovoss reflected as wind blades and physical strikes rained down on him and failed to so much as chip his scales. Still, in the hands of someone who lacked focus, it was merely a sword.

Bosque fell to one knee, his blade embedded into the ground as he panted. Vehrlovoss cocked his head. "Oh, did I forget to mention? Strenuous activity spreads the venom. Like trying and failing to even scratch me. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll go and finish off the rest of these...interesting little morsels. You sit there and melt."

What? He was a snake right now. It wasn't cannibalism...technically.

The rest of the white-clad pirates were yelling something. Presumably in horror. Either that or they were - again, ineffectually - preparing to attack him and insisted on shouting those silly names while they did so.

A dozen of them lunged forwards at the same time. Ah. Attacking, then. From all sides, even better.

He swapped into his human form as quick as breathing, leaving all of his attackers quite literally behind him. That's what they got for not going for his head. He spun on his heel, arm lashing out with his remaining scimitar clenched in his fist. The resulting wind blade caused a rather satisfactory rain of blood and body parts, as well as a lot of screaming.

Unfortunately, the scimitar shattered under the stress. Mercifully, the shrapnel added to the damage inflicted on the Nightmares.

Like he said. Cheap steel, like popcorn.

"Kill...you…"

Vehrlovoss glanced at where he'd left Bosque. Huh. He honestly hadn't thought the man would be capable of moving at this point, but hey, he was actually on his feet!

And brandishing that absurdly outsized sword, but that wasn't important. It wasn't as though he had the strength to swing it.

Vehrlovoss took a sudden step back as the blade embedded itself in the ground, narrowly missing his everything.

Hm. Well, Bosque was a Zoan, if a fairly boring one. He hadn't yet poisoned any Zoans, except for that one praying mantis one. And that one had been exploded by the Marines shortly afterwards, so it didn't really count in determining how much Zoan durability affected his venom's virulence.

"KILL. YOU!"

"Oh, for God's sake," Vehrlovoss said as he dodged another haymaker of a sword technique. "Can't you just die quietly? You're barely standing as it is, what makes you think you can kill me?"

Bosque's response was another attack aimed at taking Vehrlovoss's head from his shoulders. He sighed. "Come now. This is not exactly sporting. I'm unarmed, after all." The minor detail that he was that way because he'd just maimed or killed several of the annoying berserker's weakling crewmates was left unstated.

"RAAARGHLBE!"

"Those aren't even words!" Vehrlovoss dodged again, absent-mindedly backhanded another Nightmare into a wall, and shook his head in despair. "Really, now. Is rage going to actually help? All it's really doing is spreading the poison more, and once your adrenaline wears off it's going to _really_ hurt. I should know, people's screams always reach very high pitches when it does."

Bosque stopped.

"So you've taken my advice and accepted the inevitability of your demise. Good."

The dog-man smiled.

"Something...like that."

* * *

Venom burned in his veins.

 _You're a fool, boy._

His heart pounded, every beat weaker than the last.

 _A damned fool, with no pride or ambition._

His body ached, his wounds burning.

 _Your rage is weak, your will unfocused._

His vision was dimming.

 _You'll fall if you hesitate. You'll die if you retreat._

He could barely lift his blade.

 _What can you do, boy?_

He was in too much pain to shift form.

 _What use are you?!_

And, he realized, none of it mattered.

"I will give you...one last chance…" he rasped.

"Oh?" the serpent asked.

" _Run."_

The serpent paused, watching, then shifted form at the speed of thought, striking with fangs bared.

He would not be able to lift Amakatta to block in time.

It didn't matter.

 _..._

He had been doomed from the moment he'd decided to fight.

 _At last. Insight._

That was a simple fact.

He was no swordsman.

He was no wise warrior.

He was no skilled navigator.

It didn't matter.

There was an enemy in front of him.

That enemy would die.

That was what would happen. That was what he could take pride in.

Nothing else mattered.

" _Shepherd Style."_

Reality protested as he moved his body far faster and with more strength than his battered muscles should've been able to manage.

" _Shear."_

He told reality to get the fuck out of the way.

He _cut_.

…

 _Still alive._

 _Heh. I chose well._

 _Reach heaven through violence, pup. It's your best hope._

Herman's eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed into the pile of gore that had been the Poison Fangs captain.


	39. Chapter 63

The way my tails taste things is...weird. Obviously I can't eat normal food, but meat shouldn't taste so _sweet._

That's humans. Like eating cake, I swear to god. Some of the tougher opponents, it's more like garlic bread...but mostly it's enough sugar that I have to wonder if pirates tends towards diabetes or something.

Fishmen, on the other hand, taste salty. Much less objectionable.

"You...you bastard! When the officers get here, they'll-"

" _Scaled Spike."_

The tail stabs through the fishman's head, ending his rant. Behind me, Jack coughs softly. I glance over my shoulder. "What?"

"You doing alright?" he asks, gesturing to where my tails are finishing off the business of disposing of the two dozen fishmen who'd tried to attack us. We'd lost two men in the initial attack, but that was all. Better than I'd expected.

"It's just, you've been sucking down corpses like mad. You can't still be hungry," Jack continues.

I shake my head. "I'm not. Building up a reserve."

"Since the first battle?"

"Yup."

"How many?"

"Couple hundred, maybe?" The last fishman corpse vanishes. "Haven't kept track." I crack my neck as I let my tails fade away. "Let's keep moving. I want to get this over with."

 _Thoom._

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?" I mutter as a gigantic, _sideways_ head appears over the rooftops. That was the only way to describe it. Huge, green, scaly, and _long_ , two eyes stacked on top of each other.

"That...I _think_ that's an ocean sunfish fishman," Jack says. "Where the hell have they been hiding that thing?"

"It's surprisingly easy," a new voice says. "He is _very_ flexible."

Jack and I exchange glances, and then look at the crowd of fishmen and the two guys leading it.

One's bright yellow, his scales shifting to red along his forearms and calves, his face oddly long with a mohawk of spines and webbing at the top. The second's scales are almost tiger-striped, and he has a frill of webbing around his stocky face, and literally _dozens_ of arm-length spines protruding from his back. 'One Punch' Xio and 'Poison Spear' Jizho. Great.

"They snuck up on us," I note idly to Jack.

"Yup," Jack drawls. "They did."

"You wanna take the big one?"

"Sure, why not?"

"They're ignooooooring us, Xioooooo," the lionfish fishman complains.

His yelloweye rockfish-fishman captain shrugs, folding his arms. "We get to kill them. Patience."

"Fine. Let's goooo…"

I crack my knuckles, matching the lionfish grin for grin. "Bring it, stripey."

"Kill them all, boys!" Jack shouts. A roar from our crew answers him.

My tails burst free in an instant, lancing towards where the lionfish-man is standing, only to hit nothing but air.

"Tooooo sloooooow," a voice whines in my ear. Shit, right-!

The lionfish ducks under the desperate swing of my tails, and a spearpoint of pain slams into my gut, sending me hurtling into a building. Dust clouds my vision as I fall back to the ground, falling to one knee. I look down. The jagged end of one of the lionfish's own spines, buried in my belly.

I chuckle as a cold feeling begins to spread from the wound. "Poison spears...of course," I say, yanking the thing free as I get back on my feet. "Come on then. I don't have all day."

* * *

" _Twinned Spines."_

The twin spears stabbed into the Nightmare's crossed tails, the red tendrils visibly darkening as the poison went to work, and Jizho smirked.

The Butcher Bird was surprisingly tough, he would admit. Quick enough to react to his attacks, too, which was surprising. Only Xio was faster than him...the fact that this little upstart could even react quickly enough to block was...intriguing.

" _Scale...LANCE!"_

His counterattacks, though, left much to be desired. Jizho swayed around the sluggish stab, taking the opportunity to embed another pair of his spines into the creature's tendrils as they passed.

That made nearly a dozen of the lengthy spears embedded in the creature. Four in the torso, one in the right arm, another five in various spots on its tails, and the last two through the legs. Each spear contained enough venom to kill a hundred humans in a heartbeat.

And the Butcher Bird still stood, ten minutes after the first spear had pierced his flesh. His attacks were slower, his movements weaker, but his eyes still blazed behind his mask and he still kept attacking.

It would be almost impressive, if it actually changed anything.

"Kaneki!"

Jizho spun, snapping another spine off his back and impaling the Nightmare who had tried to rush him. The man was hurled back by the force of the blow, his corpse thudding to the ground at the feet of his remaining crewmen.

The guy with the hammer was still off fighting Kyodai, which was also surprising. Kyodia usually crushed all opposition. Literally.

As if the gigantic fishman could hear his thoughts, the hammer-wielder came hurtling down from above, cratering the street. The man groaned, and rolled over onto hands and knees, before Kyodai's immense foot landed on him and drove him flat again.

Well, that was that. Jizho dodged an overhead tail strike that cracked the street behind him, and leapt past the Butcher Bird, jamming a thirteenth spear to join its fellows in the creature's chest. The triple-tailed assault from three separate directions was trivial to jump through, and Jizho chuckled as the Butcher Bird whirled, a snarl on bloodstained lips.

His Captain grunted, and Jizho ignored his slowly dying opponent to focus on what the unquestioned lord and master of the Shell King Pirates had to say.

Xio had stood away from the conflict, allowing his subordinates the honor of killing these dogs. Now he regarded the Butcher Bird...and his eyes narrowed, before he gave a single, sharp nod.

Jizho knew that command like he knew how to breathe. _Finish it._

Tails lanced through the air towards him. Too slow, far, far too slow. He had spent years training his speed and reflexes, and he could run through a hurricane without being touched by a single raindrop. He dodged between them, the last of his spines clenched in his fist.

The poisoned barb went through the lens of the Butcher Bird's mask, into the eye beneath, and then out the back of the skull as he bore the creature down, before finally embedding itself in the cobblestones and pinning the Butcher Bird there as well. The tails broke apart and faded away.

Jizho took a step back and admired his handiwork as a despairing cry rose up from the remaining Nightmares and they broke and ran.

The Butcher Bird lay still.

* * *

"Get up, Kaneki! Get up!"

 _There was a place that was not a place, a hill of white clover. The sun burned in a cloudless sky._

"God damn it, get up! Heal your wounds, stand on your feet, and kill these bastards!"

 _There, a dragon waited. Its hide was black and battle-scarred, its body immense. Smoke rose from its nostrils, wafting past scarlet eyes._

 _This is not real, a boy said._

"Kaneki...please…"

 _Is it not? the dragon asked._

 _No real place would be so quiet, the boy replied._

 _The dragon laughed._

"Please…"

 _This place is as real as it needs to be, the dragon said. It is safe._

 _I am dying, aren't I? the boy asked._

 _The dragon shrugged its shoulders. Perhaps, it answered. Does it matter?_

 _It always does, the boy said. How do I get back?_

 _The dragon looked to the sun. You will need wings, he said._

 _I don't have those, the boy admitted._

 _No, the dragon said. But I do. Rest, child. I will do what needs doing._

 _In a place that was not a place…_

 _The boy closed his eyes._

 _The_ _ **dragon** __spread his wings._

* * *

"I am curious," the fishman captain said. "Did you _really_ think your soldiers were enough to beat all of us?"

Jack gritted his teeth, and ignored the smug bastard, despite the crushing weight on his back and the pain of what he suspected were broken ribs.

His attention was on his crew.

Ten or fifteen had gotten away. The rest were either wounded too badly to run, or dead. And judging by the looks on the faces of some of the fishmen crew, they were anticipating the chance to make all of the former into the latter.

And Kaneki…

He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

But he was so still, head pinned to the ground…

"Not going to talk? Fine. Kyodai, you can-"

"Kyeh." Kaneki twitched. Something with a distant kinship to hope swelled in Jack's heart. Could he be-

"Kya. Kya….Kyakakahahahahhahahaha!"

Kaneki's arms and legs _slammed_ into the cobblestones, cracking them, and his head began to rise. Slowly, leaving a trail of blood and things that weren't blood. The remnants of his mask fell to the ground.

His head came free with a soft, _wet_ noise, and Jack nearly retched as bits of bone and brain fell from the gaping wound in his crewmate's head.

"KYAKAKAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"

The fishmen began to back away as Kaneki turned, giving Jack a perfect view of his face. Kaneki's features were split in a too-wide, too-sharp grin, his sole remaining eye a jittering red dot in a sea of bloodshot black sclerae. And his head...he could see _through_ it.

"Kyakahahaha…"

A reddish-black liquid erupted from the hole with sudden force, filling the wound, coating Kaneki's face and torso as the ghoul staggered, suddenly clutching at his head with an agonized howl.

"What the hell-" one of the fishmen began, and Kaneki _lunged_ , vanishing from sight as the fishman was abruptly replaced by a spray of blood. The next moment, Kaneki was back where he'd been, still chuckling, head downcast and torso practically held parallel to the ground, knuckles almost scraping against the stone.

The remnants of last night's snow were melting in a widening radius around the ghoul, and Jack began to sweat for reasons that were not related to the scene of surreal horror in front of him.

The same reddish-black fluid that was still dripping from Kaneki's head was creeping down his limbs and body, solidifying into scaled patterns. Something _writhed_ along Kaneki's spine, and with a wet tearing noise new tendrils burst free, a quartet of red-tinged limbs bristling with outsized armored scales, leaving the shredded remnants of his jacket to fall to the ground.

A third pair sprouted from his upper back, crooked and wide like malformed wings of crystalline flame, and Kaneki made a noise that might've been a sigh of relief. A reddish haze began to seep from the tendrils, and wherever it touched, the stone hissed like a scalded cat, visibly eroding under the miasma. He raised his head again, meeting Jack's horrified eyes with a single orb of burning scarlet and a maw of half-liquid teeth.

"Kyakakakakakakkaha…. _kill._ "

Kaneki vanished, and the weight of the giant fishman vanished from Jack's back in an instant.

Jack rolled back onto his back, trying to breathe, and in the process getting a front-row seat to what Kaneki was doing.

The ghoul clung to his much larger opponent, limbs tearing wet gashes into the larger fishman as his form flickered and blurred, ripping and tearing into the giant's belly as the fishman screamed.

" _G-g-g-GUTS!"_ Kaneki stuttered, tearing open and vanishing _into_ the fishman before an explosion of boiling blood and intestines erupted from the giant's back and he emerged again with a column of- was that-

" _B-b-ut No SpINe,"_ Kaneki proclaimed, tails dropping the grisly trophy before whipping back around and ripping the giant's head from its shoulders with almost nonchalant ease.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of various fluid draining from the gigantic corpse. Kaneki stepped on top of the body, and the miasma pouring from his body began to eat through flesh and muscle and bone with astonishing speed. Jack crab-walked away from the red cloud as unobstrusively as he could.

Then Jizho stepped forward, spines in hand, and Kaneki's head snapped around to glare at the lionfish-man.

"I'll kill you again, you damn-"

Kaneki vanished, and whatever Jizho had been planning to say became screaming and gurgling.

Fuck this. He was getting out of here.

Jack rolled back over, forcing himself to stand despite the complaints of his aching body, and began moving towards his crewmates, hammer in hand.

The fishmen took one look at him, battered, bleeding, and broken, and then looked in the direction where the screaming was coming from.

They booked it and ran, leaving the dead, the wounded, Jack...and the fishman captain, who was looking in the direction of the steadily more horrifying noises with a...smile?

Well, if he wasn't trying to kill Jack, that was good enough for him.

Jack bent, seeing to the nearest of his crewmates. The wounded man's shirt, torn apart into strips, served for a crude bandage for the gash across his chest. He moved on to the next.

"He is not human, is he?"

The voice made him look up, not because of any particularly interesting qualities, but because of the exact opposite. It was bored, bland, utterly disinterested. And it was coming from the mouth of the fishman captain.

"No," he answered carefully, moving on to the next man. "He isn't."

The fishman's expression shifted to a small smile. "Excellent. You can see to your crew. I care not what you do."

"...Thank you?"

The fishman captain began to walk away, and Jack stared for a moment before turning to the next wounded man. He had men to save, and there was no time to be spent dealing with a clearly insane fishman.

* * *

All his life, Xio had been strong.

Stronger than any human. Stronger than any _fishman_.

His isolated colony had never seen Fishman Island, never acknowledged Neptune's authority, so perhaps there were those stronger still, but he had yet to find them.

His strength had given him much trouble as a child. He had shattered objects by accident, broken utensils and tools in his hands. A friendly blow in a play-fight could cripple or kill, and so he'd learned to harness that strength and restrain it.

And yet, in the process, he'd grown even stronger. Even farther beyond everyone else.

He'd grown, and he'd fought Sea Kings with bare hands, turning his marginal instruction in Fishman Karate into his self-taught Pistol Shrimp Boxing. His punches had slaughtered armies from afar, had shattered the greatest champions that had come to face him.

At sixteen, he'd left alone. Struck out into the world, searching for something to challenge him.

Weaklings had flocked to his banner, fishmen that saw his strength as a means of protection, and he'd welcomed them. Not for their skill, but because he had a duty to protect his people from those who would prey on them. The stronger of those weaklings found themselves his lieutenants.

He'd traveled, calling himself a pirate in hopes of drawing the eyes of a truly strong opponent. For two decades, he had ranged across the Blues and the Grand Line, fighting Marines and other pirates alike. It was only now that he had committed himself to the journey, armed with the knowledge he needed and confident that his crew would at the very least not die immediately.

Only a few islands in, and he'd come here, hoping that the fires of war would forge his crew, and maybe, just maybe, make them strong enough to stand _with_ him rather than below him. And if that could not be done, he had hoped that he would find an opponent that could, for the first time, make him _break a sweat._

And now…

He may have found one.

He had seen the creature move. Jizho's movements were quick, but in comparison to the ravening beast that had been unleashed, it was like the lionfish-man was swimming in syrup. This creature...this one was nearly as fast as Xio himself.

Jizho had stopped screaming. Which likely meant he was dead. Xio continued to walk towards where the sound had originated. The trail was easy enough to follow: the remnants of snow were entirely absent, and even the air seemed dried out, enough to make his gill slits ache a little. Water was still present, but in far lesser quantities than it should have been. That...miasma, would likely prove troublesome.

He came to a crossing, and found the creature. It was feeding noisily on Jizho's body, the shattered remnants of his lieutenant's spines scattered around it. Its armor-plated tendrils swayed like kelp in a current, while the wing-like appendages mantled its head and shoulders.

As Xio stepped into the crossing, those tendrils and wings shivered, and the creature whirled around, sole remaining eye spinning madly.

It lunged forward at incredible speeds, the air itself protesting at the impossible movement.

Xio smiled.

Xio _punched._

Pistol Shrimp Boxing, like the Fishman Karate that had spawned it, relied on the manipulation of water. _Unlike_ the more directly damaging style, it did not affect the water in an opponent's body.

It manipulated water vapor first. To do so in a fashion able to affect the enemy required immense strength.

Xio had that strength.

The blow tore the air apart, smashing into the creature's miasma and then propagating through the tainted air into the creature itself.

The scaled thing's lunge reversed abruptly as it smashed into the building on the other side of the crossing.

Hm.

Disappointing. He'd expected-

Xio dodged to the side as a spray of crystalline shards cut through the air. The shotgun spray nipped at his left arm, drawing blood, and Xio smiled. Blades had broken on his skin before. This creature's weapons were truly dangerous.

It staggered free of the wreckage, bloodied, but unbowed. Two of its tendrils twitched, regrowing clear injuries before his eyes, and the creature snarled with a scaled maw filled with crocodilian teeth. Its wings flicked forward, and another wave of shards crossed the space between them in an instant, but Xio was no longer there. The slightest bend of his knees had taken him up and over the wave, descending on the creature with fist cocked back to strike.

" _Descending Mantis!"_

The impact shook the city and shattered stone and wood alike. The crossed tendrils that took the blow _evaporated_ under the force of his fist, his strength ripping the water in their cells apart, and the same happened to the armor and flesh and bone underneath _those_ as his fist carried on through.

The creature's tendrils nearly ripped his head from his shoulders in a vicious counterstroke even as he crushed its heart under his fingers, only a hasty leap back saving him from walking away with far worse than gashes on face and chest and shoulder. Xio landed on the rim of the crater his blow had formed, ignoring the stinging of his fresh wounds as he watched his opponent. Its left side was nothing more than pulp and reddish-black fluid, and yet, as he watched, it bled back together, the miasma intensifying in density until he couldn't see anything beyond the reddish haze.

His heart pounded in his ears, and Xio's smile widened as the haze retreated once more, the creature's hunched form becoming visible again. It screamed at him, the sound shaking the earth.

This. This was what he wanted. Men had proved no challenge - so it was time to see if he could meet his match in a _monster._

A storm of shards ripped through the air. He punched them aside.

Armored, scaled tendrils lanced for his heart. He shattered them with his fists.

The miasma threatened to devour him. He forced it away with the wind off his strikes.

Through it all, for the first time in years, he felt his heart burn with passion. For the first time he could remember, he _fought_ , holding nothing back, every blow meant to turn his opponent to vapor, every strike carrying the potential to kill.

And it wasn't enough.

The creature fought on. He shattered its bones, and the tendrils carried it. He ripped it apart, and it grew back together. He cracked its armor, and it reforged itself.

Whereas he...he took wounds. Scratches, at first, then deeper gashes. One by one. Slowing him down, little by little, piece by piece.

It was...exhilarating. He threw his _everything_ at this monster, and he still-

-just-

-didn't-

- _have_ it.

His smile widened to dimensions a pelican eel would consider excessive as he forged in closer. Tendrils lanced past and _through_ him, but he ignored the pain even as the miasma began to eat at his organs.

Even as his vision dimmed, he walked forwards, letting the creature lunge at him, right into grappling range. Its wings gouged ragged lines out of his back as he grabbed it by the throat, red-black teeth snapping centimeters from his face. He drew a fist back, and smiled, even as he felt a tendril punch through his chest and rip his heart to shreds.

" _Sunfire Cavitation."_

And there was _light._

* * *

C considered the devastation with a fresh eye.

He was fairly certain there weren't many things that could set a significant swath of an island on fire at once. Certainly not in a neat cone pattern.

…

Brother was almost certainly in the center of it, wasn't he? It would be just like him.

Well, Mister Gin had ordered him to check things out, and he'd already seen the bosun carrying all the wounded people off, so finding Brother was all he had left to do.

The impact site was the best place to start. The very tip of the cone.

He slid off the side of the building, and started walking, using his powers to levitate some of the guns he'd taken away from the annoying guys in blue in front of him.

It saved his life.

One moment he was walking along.

The next, there was a snarling scaled creature impaling itself on the arrayed bayonets. C took a step back, and stared at the figure as it shrieked a string of nonsense words.

"...Brother?"


	40. Chapter 64

Vinci did not consider himself an angry person.

It was, he reflected, most puzzling. He was more than capable of great anger.

"For the Revo-"

His scalpels opened the man's throat and he died mid-step. Vinci moved on, trusting to the confusion of his enemy to mask his movements.

Yes, immense, world-shaking anger. He could harness it, could feel it burning in his veins. Rage, pulsing in tune with the second heart he'd built.

He sidestepped a flurry of bullets, grabbing the nearest of his opponents and jamming a grenade into his mouth as he opened it to shout. Pin went out, man went into a knot of rebels, and Vinci moved on before the explosion even hit his eardrums.

And yet...

He wasn't even mad at Roberts, at whose feet thousands of dead could be laid. It was, Vinci thought, a puzzle indeed. Roberts was a short-sighted, petty maniac, who had set the Archipelago aflame out of misplaced fear...and yet Vinci did not hate him as he should.

He _had_ been enraged, once he had seen Doppel die under his hands, seen a good and just and _friendly_ man pass away from the injuries that _self-righteous robber baron_ had inflicted, despite all Vinci had tried to save him.

His words had carried weight, not the weight of a Conqueror's Will, but weight nonetheless...in his rage, he had been something more than human.

Now, though?

The anger had passed.

His foot kicked up, the blade of air that formed in its wake eviscerating a squad of rebel swordsmen, and Vinci turned the motion into a backwards handspring that took him over another cluster of soldiers with ease.

His scalpels blurred, and they fell before his feet so much as touched the ground.

The street was silent.

Now…

Heh.

Once the anger had vanished, all that was left was...serenity.

Oh, he knew he was hurting - his eyes were bleeding gold again, his muscles starting to ache from overexertion - but it did not matter. He moved, the rebels died.

And he was going to reach his goal.

There was nothing else of importance.

He walked down the street, noting how the buildings dwindled away, how the snow-covered cobblestones were replaced by bare earth. Ahead, the gaping black maw of a mine entrance loomed.

There was the minor matter of the entrenched rebel positions. Lines of men, cannon barrels protruding behind barricades. A hundred rifle barrels aimed themselves at Vinci. Two hundred swords and axes stood waiting in eager hands.

Serenity. Calm. Peace. Certainty.

Vinci pulled the scythe off his back, and Shaved forwards.

His scythe began to reap a harvest of men, screams and corpses twisting in his wake. Rifles cracked, but the bullets either found themselves deflected by his blade or found their homes in other rebels as he spun and dodged.

" _Electroshock Excision,"_ he said calmly, pushing electricity down his scythe and swinging it up at a cannon that several rebels were trying to turn to point at him. The wave of lightning hit rifle barrels and grounded itself in the cannon, the currents seizing everyone near the weapons in its way. Smoking corpses hit the ground, and powder barrels cooked off as they ignited, sending a chain reaction across the gun positions as flaming shrapnel went everywhere and set off more gunpowder, which generated more shrapnel…

Vinci stood tall as the shockwaves rippled through the air and tossed the rebels to the ground, trusting to his Iron Body to protect him. Heat passed over him, and flames, and he ignored them both.

He walked through the burning remnants of the rebel defenses, absent-mindedly brushing embers off his shoulder before they could set his lab coat aflame.

Now, that should have been enough...hmm.

He let his scythe rest in the crook of one arm as he pulled out and lit a cigarette. The nicotine would not affect him, but the ritual was useful.

"Where _are_ you hiding, little miner…" he mused softly, eyes aching as he looked around. The shadows were deep here, only a single moon out to provide any sort of light, and that low on the horizon and hidden by the city itself. But shadows didn't matter to his eyes. Even the mine opening, looming over everything, was lit clear as day.

The earth rumbled, and Vinci leapt back, barely evading the spike of rock that suddenly appeared where he'd been standing. He grinned. _Finally._

Another rumble, and the spike cracked open.

Roberts stepped out.

Photographs hadn't really captured the sheer _size_ of the man. Sure, he was a fat bastard, but he stood as tall as _Jack_ , taller even, his shoulders broad with muscle under the black silk of his tuxedo and waistcoat. His face wasn't as fleshy as it had appeared in the photos, either, though his skin hung loose around it...he'd been training.

"Hitting the gym, huh?" he asked.

Roberts simply glared at him, folding his arms over his broad belly. "How did you find me, pirate?" he asked stonily.

"Oh, I didn't. I just figured if I killed enough of your little deluded friends, you'd turn up," Vinci said lightly, spinning his scythe like a marcher's baton in one hand. "Seems to have worked." He grinned wider, letting his eyes start to blaze and ignoring the slow, trickling burning as they wept ichor. "You've got a lot of dead to answer for, you know."

Grenzer. Skantarios. Knutte. Doppel. Countless dead on both sides, and an even greater slaughter being wreaked by his own orders and his own hand.

"And you think _you_ are the one to bring me to task?" Roberts asked coldly. "You think you're in the right?"

"I have a ravenous cannibal on my crew, and yet he cares more about human life than you did," Vinci said with a shrug. "Strange how life goes."

"... _Bull Spike."_

Vinci dodged to the side as another rock obelisk tried to impale him, laughing. " _Amputation!"_ he shouted back, hurtling a blade of air off his scythe right at Roberts. It hit a wall of suddenly rising rock and shattered, and Vinci continued running.

" _Bull Spike!"_

" _Amputation! Amputation!"_

The first air blade smashed into the incoming spike of rock, slowing it just enough for Vinci to dodge to the side. The second went for Roberts again, who blocked it with another wall.

Vinci stuck his scythe into the ground, pulling free scalpels instead and jumping into the air, then jumping _off_ the air, getting above the walls. " _Falling Biopsy!"_

Scalpels fell like rain, aimed straight at Roberts, but another wall of earth and stone rose above the fat fucker, shielding him.

Shielding him, and cutting off half his sight in the process. Vinci let himself fall, throwing down another pair of Tempest Kicks to make sure Roberts kept the shield up. A Shave accelerated him downwards, past the shield, before Roberts could react. The man half-turned, surprise written on his face.

Vinci grinned, and bulled into the man, slamming him into his own earthen defense and shattering it with the bastard's own body. Roberts landed on his back with a thud.

Vinci's fingers found the thread he'd tied to the haft of his scythe, and a pull brought the weapon back into his hands, raised to strike.

" _Electroshock Excision."_

The lightning-covered blade slammed into Robert's ineffectual upraised arm, and-

-and shattered like cheap glass.

Vinci stared at the remains of his weapon, vaguely conscious of stinging lines of pain on his face and arm where shrapnel had cut him. He stared at the solid, cold grey stone of his opponent's limb.

A Logia. Not an earth-control Paramecia, a Logia.

This...was not good.

Roberts smiled. " _Earth Surge."_

* * *

Brother was proving...difficult to contain.

" _Gaussian Spear,"_ C said, dodging a stabbing tendril and the scales that jutted from it just barely. An iron pipe, pulled from rubble, lanced into Brother's form, stabbing into his shoulder and briefly pinning him to the ground. The metal almost immediately began to rust as the reddish cloud that was drifting from Brother's form began to eat at it, but it bought C a bit of time, enough to get distance between them again.

Distance that Brother would eat up again the moment the pipe rusted away.

Problematic.

A Shave to the side sufficed to dodge the shards that Brother's wings hurled at him as he struggled to free himself. C gestured with his left arm, reaching out to the rubble nearby and pulling whatever pieces of metal he could find towards him, a small part of his awareness dedicated to keeping the scrap orbiting around him like a belt of asteroids. It had injured Brother enough times that he was keeping his distance, refusing to charge him directly again.

Still. The shards, the tendrils, and even the miasma were not what was making C worry.

It was the words.

"K-K-k-kiLL! LiTTlE tOY SOlDIEr, Kill, rIp tHe fLESH anD eaT! eAt! wiLl CRaCK-K-K-K BOneS, lIttLe ExPeRImenT, SUcK The MARrOW dRy! c-c-C-C-canNoT SToP, WiLl finD anD K-k-K-kiLl AND eAt you!"

It was his _scent_ , too, a thick thing of copper and iron that spilled from him and the miasma in equal measure. Unrestrained and fiery, completely unhinged.

The pipe snapped, and Brother leapt back to two legs, limbs twitching. C held his breath. What was he-

The stream of words stopped. Brother stared at him with a single, steady eye.

"B-b-b-br-"

Brother's neck _cracked_ as he whipped it to the side, then crunched as he slowly rotated it back to look at C.

"BrOtheR. KnoW yoUr sCenT. ComE, liTTLe jaBBErWOCk. WilL maKe yOu MInE FoREVER ANd Ever. COME AnD dIe anD fUEl my FirE."

C looked at his Brother, or rather what his Brother had become, and sighed.

"The Captain would be so disappointed in you, Brother. _Hall's Hail._ "

Brother fell to all fours, launching himself forward with a snarl. C swept his left hand forwards, and a rain of metal met him halfway, pipework and discarded weapons and pieces of gates and fences. They ripped into Brother's form, even as the miasma ate at them.

Sweat rolled down C's face behind his mask as Brother hit the ground again, looking like a pincushion.

It wouldn't last. Already some of the smaller pieces of metal were breaking.

"R-r-RuN, liTtlE JabBerwoCk. WiLl FiNd anD hUnt YOu, yeS!"

Brother wasn't going to stop. Containing...that miasma wasn't going to let that happen. How to stop it? If he could keep Brother down long enough... maybe his mind would heal from whatever had happened to it. But nothing he could do would last.

Hmph. He turned and Shaved down the street, following his nose and hoping that-

The sound of tearing metal and the odd, arrhythmic skittering noise of Brother supplementing his limbs with his tendrils told him that, yes, Brother was definitely following him.

The searing heat that clipped his right arm as he dodged around a corner told him that, yes, Brother was still more than capable of attacking while at a run.

Also: _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

It was only through sheer force of will that C kept running, Shaving as fast as his legs could manage. A wave of his left hand ripped up sewage piping and plumbing in his wake, providing a temporary defense against his Brother's unrelenting pursuit. The sound of impalement and the subsequent roar of fury gave him enough confidence to stagger into a side alley and collapse, nearly ending up flat on his face as his legs wobbled dangerously.

His shoulder and upper arm _burned_ , a pain unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and the pain was spreading. Poison? He craned his neck, staring at the bloodred shards embedded in his arm. They smoked slowly, the same miasma Brother was exuding.

Well. This was going to hurt. More.

C grit his teeth, grabbed the largest of the shards - which he immediately regretted as it started to try to eat into the skin of his hand - and pulled it free. It came out slowly, tearing at his muscle on the way out. The next two were just as bad, sending stars across his vision, and once the last clattered to the ground it was all he could do to remember to breathe. And he could _still_ feel whatever those shards were full of crawling along his veins, even if it was starting to fade as his own body began to counteract it.

Now, where was-

"FoUNd yOu."

C rolled to the side as a tendril scythed through the air, scrabbling to get his feet back under him as Brother leapt-

And vanished again in a loud explosion. C landed on his back, ears ringing.

Ow.

"Well, that's a mean wee beastie, ain't it?" a voice said, as hands got under C's arms and began to lift him back on his feet. "Up and away with ye, ye fancy-dressed bastard. Got a dragon to slay, don't we?"

"N-" C paused, shaking his head and trying to clear it of the fog. "'s Brother. Keep...got to lead him t' ocean."

A hooded face intruded into his field of vision. "That so, laddy?" the man asked. "Hell, your Brother turned into that? All you black-eyes able to do that?" He looked up. "Keep firing, lads! Explosive tips, keep him hurting!"

"Yes, Commander!" a distant shout responded, before there was a thrum of bowstrings, another explosion, and an enraged howl.

"Rangers," C said, cursing the slowness of his thoughts as he finally got his feet under him. "Why you?"

"You lads hauled us outta the fire, figured we'd do the same, ya ken?" The hooded man cocked his head. "You got a plan, black-eye?"

"The mist...eats everything. Hot, too. I have a plan. Need to get him to follow me."

The Ranger laughed. "Don't put too much on yourself, do ye, black-eye? You good to go?"

C cracked his neck, forcing the fuzziness away. "Yes," he said shortly, stepping back out onto the street.

Brother was on his back, writhing as scales grew to replace a gaping hole that had been blasted into him. Two tendrils were slowly eating into the cobblestones.

C took a deep breath, shutting out the commands the Ranger barked to his fellows, shutting out the residual pain, shutting out the thick smell of blood and copper that was coming from Brother, all to focus on the sea, to find its scent.

He raised a hand, focusing on the rubble that dotted the street.. " _Gaussian Spear."_

The arm-length chunk of pipe hit Brother right as he was getting to his feet, punching a neat hole through one shard-wing. Brother stared at him. An arrow thocked into his side, and a tendril pulled it out and hurled it away, letting it explode in the distance. "STilL aLivE, littlE JaBBERwock?"

"Still alive, brother," C said with a calm he wasn't feeling. "Come and get me."

Brother snarled in joy, and hurled a storm of tendrils forwards. C leapt upwards, kicking off the air again and again, gritting his teeth as his legs burned at the effort. It got him above the obscenely deadly cloud, and let him land on a rooftop. The moment his feet hit tile he Shaved to the next rooftop - and the sound of the roof collapsing behind him as Brother slammed into it told him that had just saved his life again.

He wasn't stupid. He didn't Shave in a straight line. He used the rooftops as best he could, changing directions, launching himself over the streets. The snarling, disjointed commentary from Brother was the only indication he had of pursuit.

But, all too quickly, he ran out of places to run. The ocean stood in front of him, only a small wooden dock present.

"NoWHere to RUn, liTtle jAbberWOcK," Brother said, thudding to the ground behind him.

C looked at the ocean. He turned back, and looked at his brother, a thing of scales and tendrils and seeping, searing red mist. He grinned, exposing teeth to match those of his mask. "Of course not, brother," he said, raising his left hand. " _Van der Waals Wash."_

There was a lot of metal on the seabed. Abandoned equipment, old shellfish traps, hooks, cannons, dock fastenings, nails...the list went on.

All of it came hurtling out of the water at C's simple command, all of it encircling and trapping Brother, tearing itself into his skin. The miasma _hissed_ as it began to boil away the thin layer of sea water, already corroding the metal, but the few seconds were all C needed.

He yanked his hand back, and Brother went hurtling into the bay. A plume of steam erupted from the impact site, an opaque cloud obscuring everything.

C ignored the sound of the dozen or so Ranger Pirates arriving as he pulled metal from the rubble, forcing it into the shapes he needed as he waited.

A trail of bubbles cut through the water like a shark with a rocket strapped to its tail, and Brother pulled himself onto the dock, gasping for breath. His scales were dulled, every part of him dripping wet, and no more miasma coming from his body.

Good.

Brother got to his feet, chuckling.

C clenched his fist. " _Tokamak Imprisonment."_

Metal shrieked as it slammed into Brother from all sides, strips of steel and iron weaving into and around themselves and tightening, more and more of it piling on by the second, all of it compressing Brother into an inescapable cylinder of solid metal, the height of a man and nearly as wide.

C let go of the pile, panting. That much metal, compressing it all and manipulating it...whew.

He watched the prison, but there was no heat, no seeping red cloud...he'd done it.

"It done, lad?" the Ranger asked.

C nodded.

"What're you planning to do with him?"

C gave the man a look. "Bring him to the Captain. See if he can fix this. You coming?"

"Sure thing, lad. What's your name?"

"C. Yours?"

"Murray, lad. Let's get going then, aye?"

"Yes."

* * *

It was a good thing he'd spent so much time forcing his body to augment itself, Vinci thought absently as he struggled back to his feet. If he hadn't, he'd probably have been dead by now.

Robert's attack had practically entombed him, earth rising on all sides and burying him...but it had spat him out here.

It was dark, sure, but that didn't matter. He could see just fine.

A cavern. Only one entrance and exit, gently sloping upwards. A latticework of wooden supports held the entire thing together.

He was in the mine, then.

His entire body hurt. Right down to the bones. He was vaguely certain that he'd be one giant bruise come morning, and his vision was growing spotty as his eyes strained and bled. But dammit, he hadn't come so far as to fall to an overinflated miner baron here and now.

He didn't feel serene anymore. A pity. He could use it right now.

Roberts might arrive at any moment. What were his options? He couldn't - _yet_ \- use Haki, which was the main way to counter a Logia. Electric attacks were worse than useless.

The earth shifted, just slightly, and Vinci leapt back as a spike of rock ripped upwards.

And, of course, he was literally surrounded by the Logia's element. Wonderful. His lips skinned back from his teeth as Roberts stepped out from his obelisk again.

"Still alive?" the fat man asked. "You are more persistent than I give you credit for."

He was looking...above Vinci?

What?

Vinci looked around, his snarl turning into a grin. There were no torches here, no light sources. Not even lanterns...these mines must have been abandoned.

Roberts was blind here, unless his powers gave him some means of sensing through rock. Vinci wasn't.

"I can feel you scurrying about, pirate," Roberts said.

Well, shit, his powers did let him do that. Damned Devil Fruits.

Okay. How to destroy rock? Physical damage could regenerate, but unlike a liquid or gas Logia he'd still remain solid…

" _Bull Spike."_

Vinci leapt aside, the obelisk nearly catching the edge of his coat.

Right. Rock Logia, he could turn his body into stone...but unlike other Logias, he'd still be a solid target…

Vinci almost laughed.

Time to break things.

He slipped a black pill into his mouth, swallowing immediately.

 _Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…_

The world went bright at the edges as pressure built behind his eyes and in his limbs, fire burning in his belly. Electricity began to sparkle around his limbs as the organs he'd created for himself went into overdrive. His bones creaked as his body tensed.

" _ **Monster Mode,**_ " Vinci growled.

Roberts turned slightly, orienting himself to face Vinci's voice again, hands curling into fists.

Slow. Far, far too slow.

Vinci rocketed forwards, rock splintering under his feet as he launched himself at the man, crossing the distance between them almost instantly. " _ **Impact Trauma!**_ "

His right fist slammed into Roberts' face, the taller man reeling back. Vinci landed, bent his knees, and powered upwards, left hand lancing out in a picture-perfect uppercut. His opponent's head snapped back with the sound of cracking stone.

More.

Vinci turned in midair, leg swinging out in a roundhouse and slamming into Roberts' side, to the tune of more cracks.

Hook. Axe kick. Knee. Jab, cross, uppercut, spinning side kick, elbow to the temple, spinning heel kick-

" _Counteroffer."_

The blunt slab of stone the burst from Roberts' chest slammed into him, hurtling him away. He hit the ground hard.

Roberts took a step forward, the stone slab retracting and the cracks in his body healing themselves. "You...are _extremely annoying_ ," the rock Logia ground out.

Vinci leapt back onto his feet. "Could say the same of you," he taunted. A weakness. He needed something, _anything_ , if he could just make it stick on the bastard...he needed to see a way through this...he needed to know how to _kill this_ -

" _Basalt Bankruptcy._ Die."

The pressure behind his eyes flooded his entire head at once, and his vision went dark with a wet popping noise. At the same time, a crushing weight slammed into his chest, pinning him against a wall.

Fuck, his eyes, what the hell had happened to his eyes?

Vinci's bones creaked as the slab of stone crushed him against the wall. He ignored the mounting pain. " _Stone Trauma."_

His blow was sloppy, done at an awkward angle. It still fractured the stone column that held him up, letting him fall to his knees and suck in a few breaths of oxygen. He still couldn't see - what had he done to himself? Why had his vision failed him?

"Why won't you _stay down?!"_ Roberts shouted, before a blow - a fist, right to the jaw - rocked Vinci's head back, sending stars across his darkened vision. "You come here, you kill my people, you try to destroy everything I've built, and you just!" Another blow, this one low to the rib cage, reinforced bone fracturing. "Won't!" A third, a straight cross to the chest, and Vinci fell. "DIE!"

Silence, for a moment. He heard the scrape of boots on stone, and heavy breathing. "Why, pirate? For money? For the Doge's favor? He's a fool. Nobody can stand against the World Government and survive. I saw that, I made my choices, and when he wanted to put us on the path to destruction I reached out and took my orders like a good little soldier, to _save_ these people...and you think you can come here and destroy all of that?"

A massive hand latched itself around Vinci's neck, lifting him up. He didn't struggle. He wasn't going to give this fucker the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, even as his lungs began to burn.

"It was so damn simple, pirate. I'd wave the flag, hire whoever I needed, destroy the Doge and his men...and in the end, a pardon, and recognition. The pirates would have to go, of course, but that, and access to the mines...giving that up would buy our people safety for generations. It was all starting to work...and then you had to come along and ruin it, pirate. And here you are. Broken and bleeding."

Vinci felt the hand slam him into another rock wall.

"Was it worth it? To burn our islands, to slaughter good men and women? All for gold and a promise from a soon-to-be-dead fool? Was it?"

 _Thu-thump._

The hand let him go, and Vinci fell to the ground.

"It never is, pirate. Money's never worth the price in blood…"

 _Thu-thump._

"You're going to die. The Doge is probably already dead. Your comrades will follow soon enough, whether due to my own mercenaries or the might of the World Government. So why do you smile?"

 _Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump._

Vision returned, a sharp explosion of color that made Vinci suck in a breath.

No...more than color. Now...he could see it _all._ Overlapping fault lines, constant and crystalline, all throughout the mine and the walls and the floors and the ceiling and the air itself…

Vinci's smile became a grin. "Why do I smile?" he rasped, getting to his feet, ignoring the urge of his knees to wobble as he stared at Roberts. The man was a perfect, self-repairing construct, impossible to damage with mere physical force. It didn't matter. There were other faults. "Because I know something you don't."

"And what would that be, pirate?"

The lightning didn't come easy, but Vinci forced it out, sending it crawling along one arm, all he could manage...but enough.

"Dahahaha...I know you dug too deep."

He slammed his fist into the ground in front of him, where countless thousands of fault lines converged. The earth cracked in front of him, fissures opening up around where Roberts stood...and heat and light spilled into the room from those cracks.

Roberts paled.

The earth fell out from beneath the man with a roar, the cavern floor collapsing...and revealing a sea of searing-hot magma, far beneath.

The big man didn't even make a noise as he fell.

Vinci stared at the sea for a moment, letting the heat warm him. Hot winds plucked the tricorn from his head. He was too exhausted to care.

Wordlessly, he turned back, walking towards the sole exit as the mine began to groan around him.

Roberts had said enough. Enough that Vinci knew what was coming.

He was exhausted, battered, on the edge of his strength.

It didn't matter.

Whatever the World Government had that had made Roberts so certain of victory...it, too, would not stop him. He had too much to do to fall on this pack of war-torn islands.


	41. Chapter 65

Consciousness filtered in like sunlight through a storm cloud.

Herman groaned, realized there was something stabbed into his chest, ripped it out, and only then opened his eyes.

The concerned visage of Oyeplet Akis filled his vision.

Herman closed his eyes again. Oyeplet was a good doctor, but not something anyone wanted to wake up to.

"Hey, come on, you overgrown bastard, don't you dare fall asleep on me."

Herman opened his eyes again. Dammit. Still there. He sat up with a groan. His _veins_ hurt. Probably whatever aftereffects there were from that snake bastard's venom. He looked around.

Said snake bastard's corpse was just a bit down the street. The streaks of blood…

"Did you _drag_ me here?" he growled at Akis.

The doctor shrugged. "I wasn't going to treat you in the middle of a pile of guts and blood. Not sanitary, you know."

"Urgh. Casualties?"

Akis's grim expression told him a great deal. Herman sighed. "They didn't deserve that."

"Nobody does. You're lucky the survivors managed to get me over here."

"Hrmph." He made to stand, but he wobbled suddenly, nearly falling back down. Akis offered him a hand up, and after a moment, Herman accepted.

"Where's my sword?" he rasped, feeling the weight - or rather, the _lack_ of it - on his back.

"You can't seriously be thinking of going back into combat," Akis began. "You were nearly just _dissolved_ , for the love of God, just rest-"

Herman ignored him as he saw Amakatta. The blade was embedded in the ground right next to the severed halves of the snake bastard's head.

He tottered again as he walked towards it, but he grit his teeth and forged on until he reached his weapon.

The moment his hand closed around the wire-wrapped hilt, he felt better. Not _great_ , but better. He wrenched the miao-dao out of the ground, examining it briefly. Not a scratch.

He looked at where he'd cut.

The snake bastard was in two halves.

So were the buildings behind his corpse, which were slowly starting to slide apart. He did not smile. But he nodded.

"Thank you," he said to the corpse. "For the lessons you allowed me to learn."

In his familiar grip, Amakatta seemed to hum slightly. He hefted the blade, sliding it back into its harness, before turning back to Akis. "How're the others doing? Did the captain win?"

Akis coughed, and then wordlessly pointed off into the distance.

Herman stared in the direction the doctor had indicated.

He stared some more.

He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then opened them again.

"Akis?"

"Yes?"

"Why does the neighboring island have a volcano on it?"

"I have no idea, but it's about where the mines were, so I'm pretty sure the captain's to blame."

Herman nodded. That was an entirely reasonable suspicion where Vinci was concerned.

"Think he'll make it to the rendezvous?"

"It's the captain," Akis said. "If he got his legs broken, he'd walk on his hands."

Again, entirely reasonable.

Herman started walking. "Rest of the men?"

"A bit down the road. Squeamish little idiots. Oh, they'll cut throats and fight like devils, but the second you start jamming syringes of antivenom into someone, oh _suddenly_ they develop a gag reflex. Honestly…"

Herman laughed. The captain was clearly rubbing off on his students.

* * *

The Nightmares, Clare decided, were a walking paradox.

No other crew could look so completely battered and yet also look like they were ready to kill whoever they came across.

She hung back from the gathering of officers, content to look them over. She, too, was tired. Transforming that much of herself was tiring...though the sheer number of Kriegers she'd put into the ground made it worth it in her eyes. Still, she felt better than most of the Nightmares _looked._

Gin had a few visible bruises and looked half-dead, and he was the easiest off next to the completely unruffled Oni. Lauren, the gunslinger girl, was missing an _arm._ Had to give the girl credit - she was still moving despite that, but unless Clare missed her guess that was mostly due to shock and some very effective painkillers.

Their swordsman was literally _covered_ in blood and had some nasty-looking puncture wounds, and was obviously barely standing. The big guy with the hammer was moving like he'd cracked some ribs in the fighting. The creepy fuck in the suit had tattered clothing and an exhausted look in his black eyes. Vinci himself was burned and obviously battered, too, and was missing his hat.

Their monster of a first mate...well, there was a cylinder of metal floating in the air behind the masked guy in his tattered suit...that, and the fact that occasional growling noises came from said cylinder, told her all she really wanted to know.

As for the rank and file...there were only half as many Nightmares around as she'd seen at the start. She doubted the missing ones were _all_ dead, but given that a lot of the ones still walking with them were sporting minor wounds, it was probably a decent chunk of the absent pirates that weren't getting up again. Nightmares were tough customers, and there wasn't much difference between a wound bad enough to keep them down and one that was just outright lethal.

Vinci looked over his officers for a moment. His eyes swept over Clare, and the Gear Pirate drew herself up straighter almost instinctively.

Vinci's eyes fell on Lauren, noting the missing arm. "Fall back," he said flatly. "Let the medics see to you. After this, I'll get you a new limb."

"I can still-"

"Go."

Without another word of protest, the girl turned and walked away, a couple of the white-coated pirates falling out of the group to shadow her footsteps without a word.

Clare nearly shivered. That kind of silent coordination was _disturbing._

Vinci's gaze moved to the cylinder. "What. Happened."

"Fishmen bastards stabbed him in the brain and poisoned him. Apparently it just made him mad," Jack reported. "In both ways. Didn't see the fight between him and the fishman captain, but _something_ punched part of the island flat."

"That was not Brother," long, dark, and fancy said. "I think." He gave the growling cylinder a look. "Brother is apparently now completely batshit insane. And he grew a crocodile face. I dislike it."

Vinci visibly took a moment to parse that statement, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He gestured at the cylinder. "How secure is that?"

"Very. I had to drown him first, because he was trying to eat everything with some...evil blood mist thing...but it went away when I threw him into the ocean, and hasn't come back. I'm surprised he woke up, though. I didn't leave any air holes."

"Was he coherent?"

"He said some very strange things, and his voice was weird. So no."

"Hmph. Bring him with. I'll see if I can fix him...later… _oh for god's sake, we were only gone a few hours._ "

Clare stared at the gates of the Ducal Palace. Or, rather, where they'd been. Only some creaking hinges and splinters of wood remained where they'd stood.

Vinci's eye visibly twitched. "Right," he said. "Herman, stay here with the others, you're in the worst condition. Oni, keep an eye on them in case whoever's responsible tries to slip past us. Clare, you should probably do the same with your crew. _Apparently_ , we didn't murder enough people. And the fact that I have just said that sentence fills me with frustration at the universe."

Clare turned, nodding to her men. "Stay with the others," she said. "We'll deal with this."

As one, the pirates walked into the belly of the beast.

* * *

The Palace was a slaughterhouse. One that his eyes, no longer in pain, caught every detail of unerringly.

Here, a pile of Tercio mercenaries, yellows and blacks soaked in blood. There, the shredded remnants of a Ducal Guard platoon, all of whom had had their chests caved in in addition to numerous other signs of blunt force trauma. Further on, men and women in the fine clothes of functionaries and clerks, heads severed from bodies. The dead stained the fine courtyards and the palace itself in a grisly carpet of unequaled slaughter.

The smell of death did not unsettle Vinci.

Only the prospect of facing whoever was responsible for this did.

Herman and Lauren, he'd sent away. They were spent, unable to contribute to the fight. The others...not in good shape. Jack's movements spoke of internal injury, C was focused on containing Kaneki, and as for himself, he was only standing due to sheer stubbornness. Gin and Clare were the only ones really fit to fight, and both of them were clearly tired.

Part of him wanted to turn back. To leave whoever had wreaked this slaughter be.

But he'd paid too much of a price already, lost too many people. He _needed_ to see this ended.

Was that selfish? Maybe.

But his best fighter was currently in an oversized tin can thanks to this, and Vinci was _tired_ of having to bend.

He stepped over the broken bodies of Frederick and Wallenstein, ignoring the shattered weapons in the hands of the Tercio commanders and the equally destroyed doors of the Palace proper.

More bodies. More blood.

Inconsequential.

Their wounds revealed a lot, though.

Great carving cuts, crushing blows, impacts with the precision of bullet holes...it was as though a boxer had learned the Six Powers.

Which, given Kaneki's hints and testimony, probably meant CP9. They were the only groups to both use a modicum of stealth - even if it was of the 'leave no witnesses' sort - and the Six Powers. The Marines would have been...obvious.

All the types of wounds were identical, which pointed to a single operative. Kumadori was hysterically obvious and Fukuro was...not _weak_ , but definitely not in the caliber of 'kill entire army'. Which left, unless Kaneki's timing was off, only one possible opponent.

The hallways were nearly choked with corpses, and Kaneki's prison grumbled and shifted as the berserk ghoul reacted to the reeking smell of carnage.

Vinci kept himself from reacting as the sounds of battle, still distant, began to reach them. He could trace the location instantly. The Doge's throne room.

Well. At least their employer was probably still alive.

The sounds of battle stopped.

Okay, maybe not.

All too soon, they were at the doors to the throne room.

Vinci looked over his officers and ally. "This person is going to be skilled, powerful, and overall an immense pain in the hindquarters. We're going to kill him anyway. Ready?"

They all nodded.

Vinci put boot to door.

* * *

Jabra was used to people reacting to his presence. They even had categories of reaction. The first, of course, was fear and dread, from people who had some idea of what he was. The second was bravado, usually from people who _didn't_ know, or the ones who were stupid enough to think they could take him on. The third was hate, which was typically followed by futile attacks and/or shrieking insanity.

The Doge and his little entourage had been a mixture of the first and the second...they'd been pretty annoying to fight, too, the little blue bastard throwing things at him, the one in red turning into some kind of bone golem, and the little scribe generating some giant goat horns and trying to headbutt him to death.

Iron Body Fist Law shattered it all, of course, but they still had been more of a challenge than the two mercs outside and all the soldiers.

But, only three real reactions, from people who ended up having to fight him.

The Nightmare captain's took him by surprise.

"Great, I hate being right," the man said. "Hi, Jabra of CP9." He grinned, and Jabra turned, dropping the now-headless body of the Doge to the floor.

Wonderful. More people to fight. He'd have thought the pirate mercenaries would've taken care of the idiots.

Normally, he'd start with a lie, get them off-guard, but it was rather pointless. The throne room was thoroughly trashed and he was clearly the one responsible...well, mostly, there were a few blocks of stone and the like that the little blue bastard had tossed around. But still, standing on top of the central dias and holding the Doge's corpse was pretty obvious.

So instead of lying, he jumped down to the ground, cracking his neck. "Well, you guys look like you've had a rough time of it. Roberts give you some trouble?"

The Nightmare captain pulled out a pair of bonesaws, grin never failing. "Not enough," he said. Okay, second reaction...pretty unusual from someone who knew his _name._ "Let's finish this."

It wasn't the captain that moved first, but the big guy with the hammer. Jabra's eye caught the movements of a beginner's Shave, and long-honed instincts made it easy to place just where the man was headed, and punch to the side. " _Iron Body Fist Law: Wolf Bullet."_

The man's hammer _shattered_ as it struck his fist, and Jabra flickered through a Shave, a leg slamming into the man's solar plexus before he could react. Big and bearded slammed into a wall, and didn't get up.

Two more attacked at once - the Gear commander, and another Nightmare wielding tonfas. Jabra used Paper Art to dodge the lunging stab the Gear made with some outsized clock hand, punching her in the back of the head as he did so. She dropped, and Jabra Shaved away to dodge the tonfa blows that would've probably cracked his skull, Iron Body or no. A quick Tempest Kick forced tonfa-man to dodge, and Jabra shaved forwards to meet the Nightmare captain.

Plugging the intelligence leaks the little shit represented was a secondary objective of this mission, after all. One that'd been appended after it had been apparent that their net had caught far more than just the usual crew of up-and-coming rookies that it had been intended to catch.

" _Ten Finger Pistol!"_

His attack crashed into the flats of the crossed saws, bending the metal and sending the captain skidding back. Jabra frowned. Kid had reflexes, he'd give him that. He jumped, evading the tonfa-guy's attempt to strike at him while his back was turned, and jumped off the air with Moon Walk. " _Tempest Kick: Lupus Fall."_

Four wolf-shaped air bullets slammed into tonfa-man's back and the captain's face, crushing both into the tile with the force of the impact. Jabra landed lightly, checking his corners. The captain was still moving, trying to get back up, but tonfa-man was unconscious. Only one guy in a skull mask was still standing. What the hell was that egg thing floating behind him.

"You," the masked guy said, "are very dangerous, aren't you?"

Jabra cracked his knuckles. "Damn straight, kid."

"Okay. I'll let someone else play with you. Captain always wants me to avoid dangerous strangers."

The metal egg hurtled towards Jabra at bullet-like speed. Really? This was his best shot? " _Iron Body Fist Law: Heavy Wolf Paw!"_

The metal bullet crumpled under his blow.

And then a mass of black smacked him in the chest and _through_ the dias. He was on his feet in an instant, shifting into half-wolf form just as quickly, as he -

-froze.

His senses in hybrid form were _amazing._ Smell, especially.

And everything was screaming 'danger' to a degree he'd never felt before. Not even against _Lucci._

"hEllO LittLe Doggy, cOME TO PLaY?" a cracked and broken voice said. There was a shifting of rubble, before a blackened shape, all writhing tendrils and wings, mounted the remnants of the throne. It stared at him with a single swirling eye. "caPtAin wAnts me TO Play wIth yOu. wAnTs Me To hunT YOU. I WiLl, I WILl, yeS, bECAusE I aM a GoOD BOY and i foLlow WHaT tHe CaPtAiN SayS, YES yES YeS."

The rational part of Jabra, the trained, experienced, powerful World Government agent, found the _thing's_ speech ridiculous.

The rest of him, the _animal_ part, and the parts that believed in legends and rumor, were gibbering quietly in the back of his head, keeping him from moving as the _thing_ walked forward unsteadily. It smelled fundamentally _wrong_ , something that never should have been.

He knew this beast. He knew the legends, he knew the rhyme. It spilled past his lips without much more than a thought.  
" _Blackened eyes and bloody tongues,_

 _Wait for dark and the prey that comes_

 _Huddle close and guard your light._

 _Or you will not survive the night…"_

 _Pain_ lanced through his side as a tendril shot forward, clipping his torso, and the creature smiled. "GoIng to siT tHerE, LITtle DoG? GOOD...meaT ShOulD Be qUIeT…" The tendril pulled back just as quickly as it had lashed out, trailing blood. _His_ blood.

Jabra focused on the pain, driving the fear away and forcing himself to move. " _Iron Body Fist Law. Wolf Fang Stance."_

He wasn't as fast as he could have been - the wound he'd taken slowed him, an injury he wouldn't have had if his _own fear_ hadn't shut him down. But he was fast enough.

" _FANG OVER FANG!"_

His hands blurred through the kata as he Shaved into the creature, and he caught a moment's look of surprise on what little of its face was visible before the attack slammed home and catapulted it through the roof. Jabra fell to one knee, pressing a hand to his side. It came away red.

He spent a few precious seconds shedding his jacket and using it as a makeshift bandage, before leaping upwards and Moon Walking through the hole in the ceiling, out into the night sky.

He scanned for the demon. He had no real hopes of having killed the creature, but crippling it? He could see that.

There. Its tendrils were clearing a space in the Palace courtyard, snapping up bodies with ease. The temperature began to spike as the blackened scales on its body started to redden...as if they were refilling with blood...shit.

He had to get it away from here, and he had to do it _now._

" _Moon Walk. MOONLIT TEN FINGER PISTOL!"_

His linked Finger Pistols slammed the unprepared creature into the ground, fracturing the scaled armor, and Jabra leapt back as the tendrils tried to spear him. " _Tempest Kick!"_ The air blade severed the quartet of tendrils before they could retract, and the creature rolled to its feet with a hiss of pain, wings flaring. The half-formed, crocodile-like maw snarled at him.

"I likEd You BETteR wHen you WERe AFrAID."

Jabra didn't bother responding, only moving into another attack, flipping onto his hands and ignoring the protestations of his injuries. " _Iron Body Fist Law: DEVIL WOLF!"_

The kick cracked the armor over the creature's torso and sent it hurtling over the walls, and Jabra followed with Moon Walk, slamming a nameless kick into it and tossing it into another building before landing on a crenellation.

Below him, rubble shifted. The creature, tendrils visibly reforming themselves, pulled itself out of the debris of what had once been a fairly nice house. The red in its scales was already fading. Good.

Its wings flicked, and Jabra Shaved, dodging the shards that tore through the air before landing on the street below. Hell, where had the Nightmares found this thing? He only knew about the captain, and he could barely remember _that_ little shit's name...Vance?

Not important. The important thing was...how on earth was this kind of monstrosity found on a _rookie_ crew?

He wished he'd had backup, but _no_ , Fukuro and Kumadori just _had_ to get themselves beaten up when the Revolutionaries went after Kuma…

He gritted his teeth as his abdomen stabbed at him again. He was losing blood faster than he'd thought...he had to finish this soon.

The creature stepped out into the street, shaking visibly. "yoU cAn't conTiNUe MuCH LONGer, caN yOu DOgGY?"

Jabra grinned a red grin at the thing. "Neither can you," he said, nodding at the creature's blackened and cracked scales.

"hA. TrUe eNOUgH. cOME ON. onE Last AttaCk."

Jabra crouched, hands falling into a familiar stance. "COME AND GET IT, YOU FUCKING ABOMINATION! _IRON BODY FIST LAW: BLACK FANG HOWLING FANG!"_

" _MIZUICHI."_

Two howling beasts slammed into one another, one flesh and bone, the other something else entirely.

Two found themselves hurled in opposite directions from the force of their opponent's blows.

Two left a swath of destruction in their flight, neither able to think or move, both grievously wounded.

As dawn finally broke, both passed into unconsciousness.

* * *

 _There was a second person in the place that was not a place, sitting atop the hill of white clover. He was a man, with a sage's beard and the marks of kingship._

 _You are dead, the boy told him._

 _The man shrugged. You should know better, he replied. A man only dies when he is forgotten. And you are immortal, so you shall remember me forever._

 _The old man puffed at his pipe. You have let the dragon go, he said._

 _I had no choice, the boy replied. He had wings, and I did not._

 _You do not remember, then? the man asked. You cut your wings, to hunt among men. To find an army. You chained them, and they became the dragon in your heart. And now it is free._

 _Well, then, what do I do? The dragon will burn everything, the boy said, greatly agitated. Could I slay it? Take its wings again?_

 _You cannot slay a dragon, boy, nor are wings needed. You should know this._

 _You died before you could teach me what I needed, the boy said, cross with the old man._

 _The old man laughed. Perhaps I did, he said. But this is your place, is it not? Reach the sun._

 _How can I, without wings? the boy asked._

 _The old man reached to the sun, and plucked it from the sky with ease. He laughed at the expression on the boy's face. Even a memory knows your mind better than you, he said with glee, handing the sun to the boy, who took it, though it charred his fingers to ash and bone._

 _You should meditate more. Clean out some dust, the old man instructed._

 _The boy, ever the student, bowed, and was gone._

* * *

I groan as sunlight stabs past my eyelids.

Urgh...what time is it? What-

 _SpearsthroughthebrainRendingtearingHuntingIAMFREE-_

Oh, _FUCK!_

I sit up rapidly, eyes popping open. And find a sword at my throat. I follow the line of the cleaver-like blade…

"Eka," I say.

"Boss," the leader of the Oni replies calmly. "How're you feeling?"

"Like shit. Last thing I remember is getting a spear to the brainpan...and some weird dream, something about...wings I think?" I look at the sword. "Did I do something stupid? Anyone get hurt?"

"Lots of people, but nobody on the crew, at least not permanently." He huffs, and removes the blade. "And you seem sane enough."

He tosses me a bundle. "Put these on. We've been watching you for a couple hours, taking shifts. Rest of the crew is taking apart the Palace."

I realize I'm naked, and just as quickly decide to ignore the implications of that in favor of pulling on the clothes - which turn out to be just some pants and some cheap sandals - as quickly as possible. "You couldn't just put me on the ship?" I grumble.

"You turned into a murder-dragon after getting shanked, Boss, and nobody was sure if you'd do it again once you woke back up."

I blink. "How about you fill me in on everything that's happened. Now."

"Sure, Boss."


	42. Chapter 66

My captain looks at the receding shape of the Spice Archipelago, now sporting a crown of ash as the volcano he'd set off continues to burn.

He gives the island chain the finger, before turning back to me.

"You ready?"

I shrug. "Do I have a choice?"

"No."

Vinci sounds pissed. Which is understandable. Bad enough Jabra ensured that our blood and toil and misery was pointless, but the little fu-manchu-sporting bastard didn't even have the decency to stay around and end up on our captain's operating table. He'd left enough blood to know he hadn't simply been vaporized by...whatever I did while berserking, but the trail petered out so quickly even C's nose couldn't pick it up again.

So we had a World Government agent who knew exactly what we were capable of and who would probably make sure everything went to shit for us relatively quickly.

 _Maybe we could eat him._

I frown, clamping down on the intrusive thought as I follow Vinci down onto the deck. Off our starboard bow, the Gear Pirates' ship floats, keeping to the same course as ours. Clare had been pretty pissed off when she'd woken up with a raging headache...and very carefully putting someone between me and her at all moments. Joy.

The crew, at least, doesn't seem to have the same problem. Not even C, who'd apparently been injured _by_ my berserk self. He'd _hugged_ me, when we'd met up in the ruins of the Palace, blubbering about seeing his Brother again. A sociopathic maneater really shouldn't be capable of that level of diabetes-inducing pure goodness.

On deck, the new recruits are training under the watchful eye of the Oni. Eka looks at me, and gives me a nod and a smile.

I can't help but feel I don't deserve it. My-

 _-generosity-_

-failure to keep myself under control put everyone in danger. Even if the power had slaughtered the enemy...I _had_ to learn to control it, otherwise it'd be a double-edged sword.

I return the gesture anyway, before glaring at one of the ex-Rangers who has paused in his exercises. The large, heavily bearded man pales before hurriedly resuming his work.

I follow Vinci into the bowels of the ship, squeezing past crates and piles of treasure.

Turns out, while I'd been out of it, Vinci had given the order to both take our pay from the Palace...which had quickly extended to looting everything not nailed down and most of the things that were. If there were Palace staff left after Jabra had done his thing, none of them had bothered to stop us.

I pause for a moment, examining the contents of an opened chest. It looks more like random knick-knacks than anything else...okay, well-made knick-knacks, but still. Small, interesting objects, each with their own history and use...

"Like what you see?" Vinci asks, suddenly at my shoulder.

I shrug, crouching down to look closer. "I like little things," I say. "They're...restful."

"Take what you want. You fought with us, you're still entitled to a share of the prize...well, one and a half, you're first mate."

I chuckle. "You know I don't take much. And rich clothes and jewels aren't my style."

"So what? If you like the little things, the chest's yours. I think we just threw whatever we couldn't categorize as coin, food, clothing, or jewels into it anyway. Well, that and a lot of other crates."

I nod. "Thank you, Captain."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm going to be cutting you open in a minute. Now come on. Jack was gracious enough not to block the door to the lab entirely."

I close the lid of the chest - the chest itself is pretty big, I'm going to have trouble fitting it into my cabin - and follow my Captain once more.

I'll claim my newly acquired oddities - _little treasures_ \- after he finishes his work.

It should probably bother me more that the Captain - not Vinci, not here, Vinci is not present, only the Captain is, who asks me to strip to the waist coldly, who places cold regeneration inhibitor on my back as I lay on my belly - cutting me open isn't something that even registers as odd.

Painful? Sure. But pain is something I've long since been numbed to.

There's the click of a Tone Dial, and then a faint, almost-tickling sensation as Vinci prods at something in my upper back. "Looks like those 'wings' C told me about came from these clusters. There were two previously, but now they're much larger, fully developed. Two more that haven't, though, which implies you've got more to accomplish. Some...newer sacs, too. Look to be along your spine, much larger than the clustered ones, and obloid rather than spheroid. Hm. Likely the source of your armored scales, if C's report is accurate."

"He actually gave you a detailed report?" I ask, not moving.

"Of course not. I asked, and he turned in some rambling on a Tone Dial and a crayon drawing. Albeit an incredibly lifelike one. That kid could be an artist if he had an interest beyond creative forms of murder." There's a sharp prick. "Alright, getting some blood and biopsy samples. Want to check your C-cell count. I have some theories…" He pauses. "Now, Kaneki, any idea you have yourself of your...other form, could be helpful. Especially why it acted the way it did. It seemed...intelligent. And very unlike you. Apparently it called C 'Jabberwock', of all things...so anything you could tell me could give me an idea of what happened to you, medically speaking at least."

The words are soothing. The tone they're delivered in is commanding. I swallow nervously.

"Sure, captain. It's...difficult to know where to begin."

"The beginning."

"Right." I close my eyes, throwing my mind back. "You know how C acts, sometimes? How he doesn't really seem to see anyone not on the crew as people?"

"Yes."

"That was me. But worse. I didn't have a crew. I was...feral, for lack of a better word. Only following my instincts. Even when my master came, defeated me, and set me to follow his trail...I saw people as _meat_. Little else. He taught me how to control the hunger. Suppress it as much as possible, to lock it down. And he taught me how to be a person again. I've...held back, a great deal, repressed a lot. And I think...I think once I was hurt badly enough that I was reduced to running on instinct...that that part of me came to the fore again. The old, cunning, feral part. I don't know for certain. But I think that's what happened."

There's a tapping noise of metal on the wood of the surgical table.

"You did suffer a traumatic brain injury...could be a possibility. Your default state of mind taking over as your brain was reduced to core functions. Hm. Either that, or it's related to the C-cells...they are capable of acting similarly to nervous tissue, after all...maybe that particular configuration of yours is simply accessed only when you're in that state of mind. Or in distress like you were."

"I don't know, captain. But if that's true...I'm going to have to learn to use it. And control it. I just…"

"We'll put you on a boat once you're ready, and tow you along. That way, if you do lose control while trying to figure it out, we can just have C hold you down in the ocean until you calm down. And you won't eat a hole in the deck."

"Eat a what?"

"Apparently you produce highly corrosive mist while deranged like you were. Until dunked in water, that is."

Huh. That's...problematic.

"Well, that makes practice difficult."

"Quite." There's a brief burning sensation all along my back, followed quickly by sweet relief as my body heals itself. "Alright, I've got the samples I need for now. Can you make the wings yourself?"

I slide off the examination table. Alright. Upper back, I can feel them there... _push._

There's a thick tearing noise, and suddenly I can feel my new appendages. They're...odd. I'm not sure how I expected wings to feel, but it wasn't quite this...fragmented? Hm. I extend one in front of me, running my hand over the crystalline shards. If I fire these...well, it would make sense, I suppose, for them to be loosely connected in the first place.

There's a sharp jolt of pain from the back of one wing, and I whirl. "Hey!"

Vinci grins at me, holding a crystal in one hand. "Hush, you. You've got a few thousand more. I'm keeping this one for analysis."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," I grumble, letting the wings dissolve away.

"Don't care. Go find Lauren wherever she's holed up after you drag your chest of miscellaneous loot up to your cabin. I need to talk over options with her."

"Aye, captain."

I move out into the hold, pulling the basic grey tee back on as I do so. I barely manage to squeeze the chest through some of the more cramped sections of the hold, but eventually I pull the thing into my cabin. I crack it open, then close it again as a thought occurs to me.

I have to contort myself a little to get under the bed and pull out the black box that that…'simple mask seller'...had given me. I've held off on opening it...but hell, I need a mask, and my previous one was destroyed.

Fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The latches on the box's side click open, and I lift up the lid.

A half-mask looks up at me. This one is a dark green glossy color, one meant to cover the mouth and nose. I can't quite tell what it's made of - I think crocodile? Teeth march across the front of it, a snaggly orthodontic nightmare of fangs right where my mouth would normally be.

Heh. Red, then green, newborn C as white... I suppose gold awaits somewhere else...and when we cross into the New World, will I wear an ebon mask?

I lift the thing up, and link the clasps at the back together behind my neck, letting the mask hang loosely around my neck. It feels proper to have it there, to have the weight there.

Alright. Time to go find Lauren.

Her scent is easy enough to trace, even with the dozens of new crew and the consequent muddling of everything. It's...sharp, tinged with gunpowder and ozone in a way nobody else's is. She's holed up in her cabin. I knock.

"What?" Lauren replies sharply, voice muffled by the door.

"Captain wants you in the lab," I say neutrally.

There's a subdued curse, and then the door creaks open. Lauren looks worse than I'd expected...okay, she'd lost an arm, but still, she looks like a depressed raccoon with those dark circles under her eyes. She looks me over.

"New mask?" she asks, voice dead.

I nod.

"Right. I'll go. You can leave. Now."

O-kay. I beat a hasty retreat back to my own cabin.

Which has even less space in it, as there is now an extremely large canine in it. I glare at Kant. "What're you doing in here, ya overgrown mutt?"

Kant meows, before licking my hand, his tail thumping against the wall. I sigh. "Alright. I guess you can stay here while I sort through things."

Another meow.

"Weird damn dog," I mutter, before sitting on the bed and cracking the chest open.

* * *

"So," Vinci said, trying to inject some kindness into his voice. "Way I see it, there's a few options. One, I get Clare to make me a bunch of parts and we try our hand at a clockwork limb of some kind. It'll take at least a few days to make the right parts, and there's no guarantee it'll be as good as the original. Two, I clone you a new limb and we hope for the best when I transplant it on. That one will take at least two weeks, but there's less chance of you suffering permanent nerve damage. Three, I inject you with this-" -he held up a syringe filled with red liquid (C-cells in suspension, old cultures from Kaneki)- "-and we see if it grows your arm back entirely."

"If?" Lauren echoed warily.

"It's entirely untested on living humans. And may or may not be based on the compounds I... _accidentallied_ C with."

"So? That's proof enough it works. I'll take it."

"It might have deeper effects. The C-cells are more stable than Kaneki's, but they could still have similar-"

"Captain. Please."

She was interrupting. This was new.

Lauren raised her eyes to meet his. "I...I hesitated. In the fighting. A lot. And I paid for it. Paid the price for being too weak in will." The fingers of her sole remaining hand dug into the edge of the examination table. "I couldn't help you. At all. I was stuck with the rest of the wounded while you all fought one of the toughest assassins the World Government _has_ , and if somehow the fighting spilled over to us I would've been useless. Because I wasn't quick enough or tough enough or strong enough to keep myself from getting wounded by that _bitch_ , because I needed someone else to come in and save me...and I won't be able to live with myself if something like that happens again. So I don't fucking care if it makes me like Kaneki or C, because I need to get stronger. _Fast._ So I'll take your weird concoction, no matter the risks."

Vinci smiled.

"Well said, mistress of the armory. This won't hurt a bit."

* * *

Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as Kaneki fiddled with a pipe. He'd probably taken the thing from the hold somewhere...granted, the tobacco pipe didn't fit with the rest of the loot. It was well-carved, sure, almost ornate, the patterns looking like a taloned hand grasping the bowl of the pipe...but the Ducal Palace had mostly been about gold and ornamentation, and the pipe looked too practical for that.

There was the brief flare of a match in the darkness, the light spilling briefly over the ghoul's face and chest, showing off both the new mask and a necklace threaded with jade comma-shaped beads.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest, watching more openly as Kaneki picked up his guitar and moved to the quarterdeck.

He seemed fine. At ease, almost, as the smell of tobacco filled the air. This impression was reinforced as the ghoul sat himself down and looked over the deck, mostly deserted at this time of night. Hell, Jack himself would be asleep if he hadn't been concerned about his first mate's mental state.

After a moment, Kaneki began to play.

" _I've been counting all my steps_

 _All my no's just turned to yes_

 _Silently I must confess_

 _My troubled history_

 _That's washed away all my sins_

 _Starting over once again_

 _This is where it all begins_

 _It's right in front of me._

 _Down is not where I belong_

 _This aching heart won't turn to stone_

 _There's a fire inside these bones_

 _It was meant to be_

 _I see the world still full of light_

 _How could I ever be so blind_

 _I still haven't lost my fight_

 _It haunts me in my sleep…"_

Jack smiled. He knew this song. After a moment, he found himself joining in, singing softly.

" _I feel like waking up_

 _I've had this dream before_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

 _I've walked an empty mile_

 _Wore down this lonely soul_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

 _(Woho woho woho)_

 _Higher, go higher_

 _(Woho wohoooo woho)_

 _Higher, higher…"_

" _I know only time will tell_

 _If all the cards will treat me well_

 _'Cause this hand that I been dealt_

 _Keeps me wondering_

 _So now here I turn the page_

 _I've learned to silence all my rage_

 _Tell me who can really say_

 _What will tomorrow bring…"_

" _I feel like waking up_

 _I've had this dream before_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

 _I've walked an empty mile_

 _Wore down this lonely soul_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

 _(Woho woho wooho)_

 _Higher, go higher_

 _(Woho woho woho)_

 _Higher, higher"_

" _I'll find you_

 _So far away_

 _I'll find you_

 _After all_

 _I'll find you_

 _So far away_

 _I'll find you_

 _After all..."_

It seemed like things would be alright, after all.

" _I feel like waking up_

 _(So far away) I've had this dream before_

 _(I'll find you) I'll take these footsteps_

 _(After all) Go higher, go higher_

 _(I'll find you) I've walked an empty mile (I'll find you)_

 _(So far away) Wore down this lonely soul (So far away)_

 _(I'll find you) I'll take these footsteps_

 _(After all) Go higher, go higher_

 _I feel like waking up_

 _(So far away) I've had this dream before_

 _(I'll find you) I'll take these footsteps_

 _(After all) Go higher, go higher_

 _(I'll find you) I've walked an empty mile (I'll find you)_

 _(So far away) Wore down this lonely soul (So far away)_

 _(I'll find you) I'll take these footsteps_

 _(After all) Go higher, go higher_

 _I feel like waking up_

 _I've had this dream before_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, higher."_

Jack ducked as an spinning hatchet nearly rendered him bald. The weapon thunked into the mast.

" _SHUT THE HELL UP!"_ Lauren shouted from the direction of the officer's cabins. " _PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"_

Jack looked at Kaneki.

Both of them started laughing.


	43. Chapter 67

The deck was slick with red liquid.

This, Pravilno reflected, was not an unusual state of affairs. Especially when Kaneki or C was involved.

"Hiyah!"

Lauren's hatchet hit the brittle surface of one of Kaneki's wings, wedging itself there with a crack. The ghoul turned, the other wing cutting through the air, but Lauren let go of her weapon, throwing herself back out of the wing's reach and leaving the weapon embedded in her opponent. The crooked crimson appendage shook itself, dislodging the hatchet in a clatter of crystalline shards, and Kaneki pulled his wings around himself, using them as a broad shield as he waited for Lauren to go on the offensive. She obliged with a flourish, revolver spinning into one hand and the sharp cracks of gunfire booming out as she fanned the hammer. The paint-filled dummy rounds splattered against the crystalline shards, and Kaneki snarled in annoyance before throwing himself forwards. Lauren yelped, jumping into the air- and then kicking off it as she slipped her heavy rifle off her back, firing down. The impact drove Kaneki flat for an instant, even if it was another paint round, but it wasn't enough, and the ghoul leapt upwards again, jumping up and off the mainmast to hit Lauren in midair with a full-body tackle. Both the fighters hit the deck, Lauren springing to her feet with another weapon in hand, Kaneki simply straightening from the crouch he'd taken on impact.

"He's holding back," Ostavila said from beside him, watching the ongoing battle and waiting with the chain of her kusari-gama in hand.

Pravilno nodded. Kaneki was, no doubt about it. Part of it was simply keeping Lauren from ending up filleted - he'd seen those wings used against C, and knew they were razor sharp and could fire shards like a hail of bullets - and another part was that Kaneki was still unused to the new 'weapons', unable to move them as fluidly or as instinctively as his tails.

Hence the training. Kaneki got to ease into his wings, and Lauren...well, Lauren had volunteered, so she was probably looking to get stronger. The girl had been picking the officers and best fighters as sparring opponents ever since the captain had given her her arm back, throwing herself into training her reflexes, speed, and maneuverability with unmatched fury.

Fury that, for all the leaps and bounds she was making (he was pretty sure that at this point she was the fastest and most agile on the entire crew, save for maybe the captain and Kaneki) wasn't enough to stop Kaneki, even hindered as he was. The ghoul dodged her next shots, Shaving forwards into another tackle. Lauren dodged that with Paper Art, but one of the wings smacked her aside as Kaneki passed by, and the ghoul rebounded off the air to slam her into the deck as she stumbled. One of his wings slammed into the deck next to the gunner's head. "Dead," Kaneki intoned. "Again. Come on, you've got the paint rounds, fight someone who is more able to-"

Lauren kicked him in the balls.

"Okay, never mind," Kaneki said in a slightly strained voice as he withdrew his wing. "Also, please stop doing that."

"Nope!" Lauren replied, springing to her feet and retrieving her heavy rifle from where it had fallen.

"Fine. Next!"

Ostavila rolled her shoulders, planting a kiss of Pravilno's cheek before stepping onto the deck. Pravilno leaned against the rail, putting a hand to his new wide-brimmed hat as a gust of wind almost snatched it away. He missed his pompadour, but short version: flammable hair gel and Krieger incendiary bullets didn't mix. Ah, well, the hat was pretty nice anyway.

Ostavila's kusari-gama hummed as she swung the weight, letting it blur into a circle of shining steel as she waited for Kaneki to move first.

Kaneki's wings crooked back, the sharply-crooked top of each wing twitching and setting the bundles of crystal shards that served as feathers rattling like macabre wind chimes. Then one suddenly twitched forwards, and a red blur intersected the steel one with a clang. The weight went rocketing off into the sky, and Ostavila stared at the remnant of the chain before glaring at Kaneki. "You're paying for that."

Whatever Kaneki was planning to say in reply was cut off as a feathered white shape slammed into the deck.

Pravilno cocked his head. "Hey, Osta. You killed the News Coo."

"Shut the fuck up, Prav."

Kaneki poked the bird with the tip of his boot. "Eh, he's just concussed. How much do you think he'll charge for injury?" He crouched down, and pulled free a newspaper before adding a small roll of bills to the bird's bag. "Oi!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Someone go stick this bird up on the forecastle until he recovers!"

One of the crew grabbed the oversized gull, while Kaneki leafed through the newspaper. "Huh. Hey, someone get the captains together. They're gonna want to see this."

"Trouble?" Pravilno asked.

Kaneki grinned. "Better. Bounties."

* * *

"So, let's see..." I say, laying out the new bounties. The shadows cast by our impromptu circle are long, the sun burning high in the sky. Everyone - save for Vinci, who seems immune to the heat, and Clare, in her armor - is wearing as little as can be gotten away with, myself included. "Pretty big pile this time around. Already sorted out the reissued ones and raised bounties, Jack of the Beast Pirates just cracked nine hundred million, by the way. Kid hit a hundred and ninety-two after some _truly_ inventive murdering...Killer's up to fifty-eight. A couple of breakout rookies...Monkey D. 'Straw Hat' Luffy, hundred million, and Roronoa 'Pirate Hunter' Zoro, sixty million, both of them on the same crew." I nod to Vinci and Jack, not willing to say more with Clare and the rest of the crew in hearing range. "Let's hope we don't cross paths, these guys took down a Warlord," I add, making a show of reading the back of the posters in question. "Clare, you're listed as the new captain of the Gear Pirates, and you're up to sixty-six million." The armored woman nods.

"Come on, Kaneki. Show us the important stuff," Herman growls.

"You do realize that these are a mark of how much the World Government hates us, and will attract bounty hunters and Marines who are trying to take our heads?" I ask.

"So?" Vinci says. "I can always use more test subjects for the things I don't feel comfortable testing on the crew."

"Riiiiiight. Okay, since nobody here has a healthy sense of self-preservation-"

"Says the guy who throws himself headfirst into combat without a gun," Lauren mutters.

"-let's get this show on the road." I lay down the first poster, an updated image of Vinci with a lava flow visible in a background. There's a crazed grin on my captain's face, his eyes glowing gold and…

"Hey, captain, can you do that eye trick for a second?" I ask.

Vinci shrugs, before his eyes glow, and a pattern of three swirls, a darker gold than the rest, arranges itself over his iris.

 _Triskelion, symbol of motion._

"Huh, thought it was a trick of the light," I say. "You can stop now. But yeah, 'Alley Doc' Vinci, one hundred forty-four million. Nice work," I say, handing him the poster. "Now, onto the most badass and handsome of us all…"

I duck as a dagger nearly scalps me. "Hey, what the hell?"

Ostavila looks prim and proper as can be as she files under her nails with the dagger. "As if it'd actually hurt you," she says.

"It's the principle of it," I grouse, tossing out my own poster, where the photo is half obscured by the blur of my tails, my mouth open in a snarl and eyes blazing red under the lenses of my old mask. "But here's mine. 'Butcher Bird' Kaneki, one hundred and six million. Probably got Jabra to blame for that one."

"Honestly, I thought it would be the mass slaughter of entire pirate crews," C adds absent-mindedly.

"Riiiight. Alright, next up is Herman, with a new and improved bounty of... _fifty-five million?_ Jesus, they really don't like you," I mutter, handing the dogman his poster, which shows him glaring at the camera, sword hefted on his shoulder.

"Yeah, guess that snake guy was a big deal," Herman mutters. "Still doesn't make much sense, though, you'd think it'd be less than that."

"Hey, I'm not the guy handing them out, maybe they figure you look scary. Anyway, next, we've got Jack here with a thirty-eight million bounty. Didn't change the picture though, still the same ugly mug as always."

"Ha ha, fuck you," Jack says. He shakes his head. "It's funny. That's a higher bounty than my old captain ever had. And yet it looks tiny."

"Price of a famous crew," I say, taking a moment to light my pipe. Never really smoked much, but between the need in the Archipelago to drown out the more horrific smells and the simple fact that it feels relaxing (and can't exactly _hurt_ me with my regeneration), I've taken up the habit. "Alright, next on the list is Gin. Thirty-three million, and a new name: 'Revenant'." This poster shows Gin, making a 'come hither' gesture with one hand. Blue-uniformed Krieger corpses and burning tents are visible in the background.

Gin simply nods, lighting a cigarette to add to the smoke.

"And last, but certainly not least, our dear gunner Bertram Lauren, nicknamed 'Vodun' and valued at a respectable eighteen million," I say, laying the last poster down. Lauren's face is mostly obscured by a gas mask and the virulent purple of her hallucinogenic mix, but that's enough to be intimidating.

"Huh," Lauren says. "That's surprisingly creepy-looking."

"We're called the Nightmare Pirates, I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be so scary our wanted posters cause heart attacks," I deadpan.

"Eh, fair."

C frowns.

"You alright, little bro?"

He shrugs. "Why don't I have a bounty?"

"Probably same reason Lauren's here is so small. You didn't hunt down anyone that important during the final battle, so nobody really knows what you can do. Not like you left a lot of survivors."

He nods. "Yeah, makes sense. Still sucks."

"I mean, it means nobody is going to be trying to cut your head off, so…"

"I'm pretty sure it'd grow back."

"Pretty sure is not certain, kid."

"Hmph."

"Hey, did anyone actually read this paper, or did you just go straight to the bounty listings?" Vinci says, leafing through the rest of the World Economic Journal. "Because take a look." He puts down the front page.

 _ **PIRATES RAVAGE ISLAND CHAIN IN VICIOUS CONFLICT**_ , the headline screams, right over a suitably ominous photo of a wrecked street in the Archipelago, the volcano prominent in the background. I start scanning the article quickly.

"...civil war, betrayed their employer, devastated the Archipelago, murder and wanton pillaging, yadda yadda yadda, we're getting fingered for starting the mess in the first place and 'escalating' it, and for killing the Doge and betraying all the _other_ crews. Oh, and Clare, apparently you killed your captain because I seduced you into it," Vinci says.

Clare slowly turns her head to look at Vinci, then whirls to glare at me. "You. Me. Spar. _Now,_ " she growls.

"Help me," I whine.

"Oh, hush, you big baby," Vinci says.

* * *

Vinci glared at the crumpled black lump floating in its nutrient tank as though he could will it back to life, before sighing. Another failure to replicate his success in a safer manner.

He scratched at his chest with one hand, where the King's Heart rested, while the other pulled the lever that consigned the failed experiment to the incinerator, leaving only an empty glass tube.

There were any number of reasons this particular iteration had failed. He was trying to reduce the aftereffects of an incredibly complex and dangerous implantation process, and do so without crippling the very mutagenic qualities of the organ that made it so valuable in the first place. _Some_ reduction in capability could be allowed, if the tradeoff was a process that didn't take someone to the brink of death during the Heart's integration. _He_ might have survived his implantation, but he knew that his heart had stopped at least three times on the operating table, and only his will and fate had given him the strength to survive.

Did others have that will? Perhaps, but he doubted fate would align properly...and he was _not_ going to risk his own crew like that. Using enemies as test subjects for his most dangerous projects? He had literal binders full of ideas. But his own men, for something that dangerous? Not a chance, not unless his back was up against the wall. Even the Oni compounds, though powerful, didn't carry the same kind of danger as a failure in implantation would.

And yet all his attempts thus far...simply resulted in the organ failing, unable to sustain itself as the original had.

No matter. Time, trial and error, and research would reveal what he needed, soon enough. Sooner, if he could find living subjects who were foolish enough to fight his crew.

...And who survived the fighting, which was difficult. Between the Oni, the ghouls, and the rest of his crew's commendable thoroughness, even finding _intact_ bodies was probably going to be difficult.

Vinci stood, and looked over the lab, before quietly walking over to where Lauren was working. Well, sleeping. Jars of powdered and liquid chemicals and mechanical pieces littered the countertop, and a bunsen burner was still lit, inches away from her face. Vinci turned it off.

Poor woman was pushing herself far too hard these days. And Vinci was not the right kind of doctor to deal with her issues. Still, at least he could make sure she didn't set herself on fire because she was working too hard to know when to sleep. Or cause an explosion - some of those reagents looked volatile.

Yeah, leaving her here was probably a bad idea.

He prodded her shoulder. Snoring was her only response.

Well, nothing for it.

Carefully, he picked her up. She felt lighter than he'd expected, curled up against his chest. Then again, he was taller these days, and much, much stronger.

He maneuvered through the hold and back up the stairs, out onto the deck. The night was warm and humid, the hints of thunderstorms in the air, but the sky was clear. Well, weather didn't make sense on the Line at the best of times. He sniffed the air. Pipe smoke.

"Kaneki," he said quietly.

The ghoul detached himself from the shadows, embers flaring in his pipe, without a word.

Vinci nodded, before carefully opening the door to the cabins, and then getting Lauren into her own cabin and bed. He closed the door behind him, and to his utter lack of surprise, found Kaneki standing behind him.

"You're enjoying doing that far too much," he said.

Kaneki smiled thinly. "True." He tapped the bowl of his pipe in his hand. "What's eatin' both of you, captain? Lauren, I can guess, she's been through hell, but you…"

Vinci sighed. "Come on. Walk with me."

Kaneki followed him back out onto the deck without question. Vinci leaned on the rail, watching the starlit sea, before he lit a cigarette. It wasn't as though toxins would affect him, after all. Kaneki watched for a moment, before putting his pipe back in his mouth.

"Who do you think the strongest of the Emperors is?" Vinci asked.

Kaneki cocked his head, considering for a moment, before nodding. "Personally? Kaido."

"And with their crew?"

"Not sure. Whitebeard, maybe? They have enough men…Why're you asking, captain?"

Vinci chuckled. "Because I know different. It's Shanks."

"How so?" Kaneki asked. Vinci knew that tone. It wasn't disagreement, it was just Kaneki poking around for an opinion. Well, he'd give one to him.

"Charlotte Linlin can rip the soul from your body and possesses so much strength that she slaughtered giants at the age of _five_. Kaido is an unkillable monster who views suicide attempts as a recreational hobby. Whitebeard is literally the strongest man alive, and can destroy islands by punching in their general direction. All of them command armies of incredibly strong people, lead fleets of ships, and have the allegiance of countless pirate crews...and yet, despite that, despite the Devil Fruit powers in their possession, despite their wealth and their armies... _one crew_ stands among them as equals. One single, solitary, _small_ crew and ship, of mere mortal men, not a Devil Fruit among them. The Red-Haired Pirates. The _rookies_ of their crew are ninety-million-beri bounties, and their reputation is such that they can be wandering the Blue Seas and their claimed territories in the New World will still be left untouched. That is power. Not the kind found in weapons or in armies or fortresses or even in the Devil Fruits."

Vinci grinned as his eyes began to flare. "Mortal men can achieve such heights. With nothing more than determination. Who is to say we cannot do the same, even achieve greater? It sounds impossible, but the Grand Line is filled with impossibilities...just imagine it. A single crew of that caliber can match itself against the Emperors and the Marines...so I ask: what can an army of such men accomplish?"

Kaneki was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled. "Guess that's why you're up at night. Trying to make more augmentations?"

"Exactly. Making ones that our crew members will _survive_ is the hard part. Lacking regeneration of your type…"

Kaneki exhaled, smoke drifting from his nostrils. "I've already said I don't want more of me," he said slowly. "But that already happened. And strength is needed, more than ever, if we want to survive. So I'll make a condition for you, captain."

"Name it."

"Figure out a way to stop the hunger...or a food source that doesn't require me and mine to eat people...and I'll let you do whatever you like."

Vinci nodded. "Deal."


	44. Chapter 68

_We are in the midst of hell._

I ignore both the gibbering voice in the back of my head and the increasingly heavy blows of hail against my tails and body as I shelter Herman from the downpour. The man has had to shift to half-beast form to retain control of the wheel, and his swearing is audible even over the howling of the storm.

So is Vinci's.

" _CUNTING WHOREMONGERING SISTERFUCKING BOY-ASS-LOVING-"_

Really hadn't expected that kind of profanity out of my captain of all people, but clearly he's learned from the rest of the crew. And it's not like it isn't warranted. This storm is insane even by Grand Line standards. We've long since lost sight of the _Grandfather_ \- thankfully, we have their transponder snail number, so we can get back into contact afterwards - and since then we've had to mostly deal with hurricane-force winds, hail, and of course enough rain and wave to drown a raft full of midgets.

I may be starting to get slightly loopy from lack of sleep. I may not need that much but _none_ is clearly not helping. But the past few days have had me on deck constantly, whether to keep someone from ending up overboard - one tail flicks out, snagging a man by the ankle and yanking him back onto the deck - or to protect the others from the hail.

" _-ER-SQUEEZING- C! WAVE! TWELVE 'O CLOCK!"_

There's a crack that temporarily draws out the roar of the rain and sea as the wave in front of us, a behemoth large enough to swallow the entire ship, parts in the middle, a shroud of mist suddenly enveloping us.

And it all...stops. The hail, the rain, the wind and waves. There's just the mist, scattering rainbow light across the deck.

The crew slowly start to pick themselves off the deck, as I retract my tails, trying to figure out what is going on.

And then the wrecks start looming out of the fog.

"AAAA!"

"ANCHOR! DROP THE ANCHOR!"

 _Ends Justified_ grinds to a halt, the ship tilting for a moment as the anchor snags on something, before the entire ship settles with a groan.

"What is this bovine excrement?" Vinci shouts. "Kaneki?!"

"Why the hell are you yelling at me?!" I shout back.

"You're a hundred years old and know more than anyone, you didn't see this coming?"

I look around, seeing the wrecks - ghost ships, of all kinds, shrouded in mist - floating by. "Captain...I have no idea what this is."

Vinci slumps slightly, putting a hand on the rail, before he straightens, and gives me a nod. "Scout ahead. See if you can find a way out of here. Everyone! This is pure Grand Line bullshit, but stay calm and we'll probably be fine. Only one or two of you are probably going to die. Maybe."

"Is he joking?" one of the crew members - an ex-Steel Shield, judging from the axe and roundshield he carries - asks.

Jack wordlessly points to the large sign we have long since nailed to the wall of the mainmast tower.

ARTICLES OF THE SHIP _ENDS JUSTIFIED_ AND THE NIGHTMARE PIRATES

OF ALL PRIZES TAKEN, SCIENTIFIC PAPERS AND EQUIPMENT GO TO THE CAPTAIN, GUNPOWDER WEAPONS AND AMMUNITION TO THE ARMORER, VICTUALS AND PROVISIONS TO THE BOSUN, NAUTICAL CHARTS AND FAMED BLADES TO THE NAVIGATOR, ET CETERA. COINAGE, JEWELRY, AND OTHER SUCH VALUABLES TAKEN SHALL BE DISTRIBUTED TO THE CREW BY THE BOSUN. THE CAPTAIN RECEIVES THREE SHARES, THE FIRST MATE TWO, THE OFFICERS ONE AND ONE HALF.

THE CAPTAIN RESERVES THE RIGHT TO EXPERIMENT ON YOU IF HE SO PLEASES.

KEEP YOUR ARMS AND GEAR WELL-MAINTAINED AND COMBAT READY, OR THE NAVIGATOR AND THE ARMORER WILL QUITE POSSIBLY MURDER/EMASCULATE YOU.

NEGLECT YOUR TRAINING, AND THE FIRST MATE WILL HANDLE YOUR CASE. DO NOT MAKE HIM. WE DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN.

DO NOT DISOBEY ORDERS. THE CAPTAIN WILL CONSIDER YOU A TEST SUBJECT IF YOU DO.

BETRAYAL OF THE SHIP OR CREW TO THE MARINES CARRIES PENALTY OF DEATH BY FIRST MATE, OR BY C, WHOEVER IS CLOSEST AND HUNGRIEST.

IF ANY MAN OR WOMAN ATTEMPTS TO FORCE THEMSELVES UPON A CIVILIAN, THE BOSUN WILL RENDER THEM INCAPABLE OF DOING SO EVER AGAIN.

C, DO NOT EAT THE CIVILIANS WITHOUT PERMISSION.

THE HOUNDS ARE NOT FOR ENTERTAINMENT. IF YOU PROVOKE THEM, ANY INJURIES ARE YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.

ALL THOSE WISHING TO BECOME SWORDSMEN WILL PRESENT THEMSELVES TO THE NAVIGATOR AFTER EVENING MEAL. HE WILL ATTEMPT TO BEAT THE FOOLISHNESS OUT OF YOU. IF YOU CONTINUE TO WISH TO BE A SWORDSMAN AFTERWARDS, CONGRATULATIONS IN ADVANCE.

IF YOU FIND YOURSELF HUNGERING FOR HUMAN FLESH FOR EXTENDED PERIODS OF TIME, SPEAK TO THE CAPTAIN AND THE FIRST MATE, IN THAT ORDER.

IT IS QUITE LIKELY YOU FORFEITED YOUR SOUL UPON JOINING THIS CREW. DEAL WITH IT.

 **NO, THE CAPTAIN IS NOT JOKING.**

"Okay," the crewman says in a rather more subdued form of voice.

I laugh, before pushing my wings out and leaping into the air, a quick flap accelerating me forwards. I claw for altitude, flying in widening circles around the ship. The mist is thin enough to see through, even though it blurs the lines of the countless wrecks...but it blots out the sun - hell, I don't think there _is_ a sun here, just an omnipresent light filtering through the mist.

 _This place is_ wrong.

I grimace, trying to wrench my thoughts back on track, before flying straight ahead at speed. If there's a way free of these wrecks, of this mist, it's my job to find it. Equally, if I can find an island or something, that'd also be useful. Maybe there is one, and that's the source of the mist…

There. Smoke, rising up from the mist, and the outlines of land. I fold my wings, diving low, and then-

Cracks sound out, a hail of bullets lancing up, ripping into me before I can react-

Ground-!

* * *

Miller lowered his Kalash, staring at the edge of the water where the huddled shape had fallen. "Damn demons," he said flatly, scanning the mist-filled shoreline.

What the hell was this? He'd put it as one of Krasynn or Artyom's sort of things, a hallucination or memory, but they'd been on the way from Yamantau, miles from any sort of ocean...and yet here the ocean was, along with the mists. The railway even ended right at the edge.

"Krasynn, any idea what is going on?" he asked.

The young giant, standing alongside the _Aurora's_ engine due to the simple basis he couldn't actually fit his ten-foot frame into the carriage, shook his head, sending the red dreadlocks that gave him his name swaying. "Not a clue," he rumbled, before putting a hand to the 'sword' - really a cut-down rotor blade - at his waist. "Colonel. That's not a demon you shot. That's a person."

A couple years ago, Miller would have found this statement insane. But seeing an entire procession of insanity, from Krasnyy's unnatural powers to Artyom's strange empathy with beasts of all sorts to the annihilation of an entire Red Line army by the Dark Ones...well, it bred a healthy respect for that sort of insanity. Normal life had ended with the War. So he simply said "Oh."

"No worries, I think you just pissed him off," the giant said cheerily.

"I'M GOING TO FLOSS WITH YOUR SPINE YOU TRIGGER-HAPPY FUCK!" came the shout from the shoreline.

Miller sighed, before pointing his weapon at the...well, not a demon, but something with eyes blazing the same red as Krasnyy's hair, and scarlet tendrils reaching out from its back. The other Spartans raised their weapons, watching the person - and despite everything inhuman about it, speech demonstrated it was at least intelligent - warily. The man paced, hands clenching and unclenching, before Artyom stepped forward, hands raised.

"Sorry about that," the second-youngest of the Rangers and unofficial 'Moses' of the crew (and _damn_ Idiot for putting that concept in everyone's head, it was asinine) said reassuringly. "We thought you were a creature, hunting us. Are you alright?"

"Been hurt worse," the person said grudgingly. "Still don't appreciate it."

Krasnyy leaned on the side of _Aurora'_ s engine, watching the tentacled newcomer carefully as Artyom's natural charisma went to work.

"Alright. I'm Artyom. What's your name?"

"Kaneki."

"You got any idea what this place is, Kaneki? We were in Russia, and now we're here."

Kaneki froze. "Russia," he said flatly. "How the fuck…"

Krasnyy inhaled, and then vaulted over the _Aurora's_ engine, landing with unnatural grace before walking over to Kaneki.

"Krasnyy, what are you doing?" Miller asked.

"Colonel…" Stepan said. "Look at them. Closely."

Miller looked.

Kaneki was shorter, the same height as Miller. His features were gaunter, the skin stretched tighter by stress and malnutrition, reddish veins stretching under his eyes like twisting worms. His hair was brown, cropped short, rather than Krasnyy's dreadlocked mane. His clothes were little more than khaki trousers and a grey tank top, utilitarian and simple in comparison to the barbaric Watchman pelts Krasnyy wore. And yet…

"Identical, the same face in two men," he breathed. "What fresh hell is this?"

"That," Krasnyy said, "Is an excellent question, Colonel. This place…"

"...it is not natural," Kaneki finished.

"My senses are uncertain of what to make of it," the giant continued. "But...a crossroads, of sorts? A mutual fraying in reality, or something of the kind. It would not be the first thing I have encountered of that kind."

"Spare me the mystical claptrap, Krasnyy," Miller said warily. "You. Kaneki. I assume there's a reason you look so much like our manic psychic giant friend."

And the fact that that sentence was something he'd uttered perfectly encapsulated exactly how insane his life was now. If he'd known, he likely never would have concocted his plan to deal with the Dark Ones when Krasnyy had showed up with a wounded Ranger on his shoulder and a traumatized young man following in his shadow. Never have found D6, fought for it, never have found out the truth about the Metro or been forced to run away when the paranoid shits at Moscow Command had branded them traitors enthralled by a mutant. Never have discovered that Yamantau was filled with horrific cannibals (and now was filled with their crisped corpses, because by the Holy Mother, Krasnyy and Artyom exercising the full breadth of their power was something to be terrified of) and that there was _nothing_ keeping the memory of the Soviet Union, of _Russia_ , intact as a government.

But it didn't matter. The past was past, and even Krasnyy or the Dark Ones couldn't change that.

"There is," Kaneki said cautiously. "I think. Meaning of life?"

"Forty-two," Krasnyy answered promptly.

"Taylor Hebert?"

"Queen of Escalation."

"Fat-bottomed girls?"

"Make the rocking world go round."

"Kill me now, there's two of them," Tokarev muttered.

"Da, and the new one looks like a walking nightmare," Duke said with a laugh.

Krasnyy grinned. "Well, it's answered Colonel. He's me. Or at the very least, a variant. Multiverse theory and all that."

"You're telling me Idiot actually had the right idea when he started philosophizing about how you were possible?" Miller growled. "Wonderful, just wonderful. Now, Kaneki, please tell me you know a way out of this place."

"What do you think I was looking for when you shot me?" Kaneki asked. "Hell, we just got here. You know what, stay here, we'll come to you. Captain and crew probably need to be filled in on...whatever this is, and this is the first spot of land I've seen."

"Yes, yes, bring your crew," Miller said, waving his hand.

"Might do us some good to meet a group that _isn't_ trying to shoot us on sight," Anna commented.

* * *

Elsewhere in the fog, perched atop the protruding mainmast of one of the innumerable wrecks, a skeleton and an angel regarded one another. The first, despite his inhuman appearance, wore casual clothing, a red hoodie and cargo shorts. The second wore baggy trousers as a concession to modesty, but the upper half of its stone body was unclothed, leaving the straight line of burning holes threading its torso visible, the flame within them a sullen crimson. Each of them had a companion - the skeleton, a slim woman in a dark grey outfit, the yellow-orange lenses of her buglike mask shining in the fog, the angel, an equally young man, red-haired and with dark circles around his empty eyes, a massive gourd strapped to his back. A cloud of insects shrouded the woman, a haze of sand the man.

The two equally inhuman individuals regarded one another, before turning to their respective companions.

"Serif, so he's basically alternate you?" the woman queried. "What kind of place is this?"

"I would like to know this as well, Master Forty-Two Encompassing Rage," the young man added quietly.

"Something very strange," the angel mused, before turning towards the distant source of light and noise. "Fifty dollars says we aren't the only ones out here," he continued.

The skeleton scoffed. "Sucker's bet," he said.

"Then shall we investigate?"

"Damn straight."

* * *

The Nightmares were exhausted, battered, and generally out of fucks to give about the weirdness of the universe.

So, naturally, upon coming to the first spit of land, land which held some kind of gigantic huffing rail engine and a small group of soldiers in extremely advanced armor wielding strange weapons, they did the first thing that came to mind.

Which, being Grand Line Pirates, was simple and something that connected to the simplest and most primitive parts of the human brain.

That is, break out the booze and throw a massive party to celebrate surviving, drawing the strangers into it by the combination of liberal amounts of said booze, general friendliness, and in Lauren's case, a spirited discussion about gunpowder mixes.

Vinci didn't have time to party, though he had brewed himself a large mug of coffee. His special blend - it could wake the dead and doubled as an effective solvent for metals.

Possibilities were whirling in Vinci's brain as he watched the ongoing celebration.

He was quite certain he'd seen a walking skeleton and a flaming statue (as in, on fire, not flamboyant) join the giant and the Kaneki he recognized, before all four had wandered off.

And that set him thinking.

It was obvious this place was some sort of crossroads, to judge from the simple fact of, well, alternate Kanekis. And he'd bet his bottom beri that all of them had experienced the same situation his own had.

But why only Kaneki and whatever companions had been brought with him? Where were their own alternates? The Nightmares counted nearly a hundred men and women, and none of _them_ had doubles. Why only him?

"Captain! There's ships approaching!"

"PIRATES! STRIKE YOUR COLORS!" came a shout from the distance.

"PIRATES?" came worried screaming from another direction.

Two more ships lunged out of the mists.

The first, a fat tub of a cruise vessel, something that would make a fine prize on the seas, crowded with civilians at the rails.

The second...a lean, mean Marine frigate, the mirror image of the _Ends_ , and standing at the bowsprit…

Vinci's brain temporarily short-circuited as he beheld a woman, tall, strong, and buxom, her hair black as his own, the same scars on her face, the same stitched-together coat…

Without diverting his eyes from the oncoming ships, he reached out and snagged the collar of the nearest Nightmare. "Bring me alcohol. Vast quantities. I wish to get very drunk right now," he said tonelessly.

"PIRATE VESSEL!" his gender-flipped twin shouted, much louder. "STRIKE YOUR COLORS AND SURRENDER, OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" came the despairing moan from the cruise ship.

Vinci cupped his hands around his mouth. "What makes you say we're pirates?" he shouted back.

His doppelganger wordlessly pointed at _Ends Justified's_ mainsail, proudly displaying their Jolly Roger.

"Okay, fair enough, but I think you're a bit out of your jurisdiction! This mist ain't natural, and I'm betting you're from another world compared to ours!"

"You're still pirates!" his doppelganger shouted back, a bit quieter this time. "And you're stealing my look!"

"C'mon, we aren't hurting anyone, and you lot are welcome to join the party. Besides, if a version of me became a Marine, that means you guys are a lot less of a bag of assorted idiots than _our_ Marines, and your pirates a lot worse! We're just sailing the seas for fame and fortune, not out to hurt anyone who doesn't try to kill us first!"

He could see his doppelganger's eyes narrow, before she nodded.

Vinci turned to the cruise ship. "Goes for you guys too!" he shouted. "Come and anchor with us! Leastaways we can have some company, maybe start figuring out how to get out of these mists?"

After several moments of deliberation, the ship tacked towards them.

Vinci sighed in relief.

" **Ah, excellent. Always good to see unnecessary bloodshed avoided,"** a voice said behind him, resonating through the entire ship.

Vinci turned slowly, facing himself. Well, if he was eight feet tall, clad in golden monk robes, and wearing what looked to be a halo of all things.

"Okay, so there's me, the pirate, female Marine me, and I'll bet you anything some civilian type is on board that ship," he said slowly. "So what the hell are you, and did you bring an entire crew of equally themed versions of my own people with you?"

" **I believe I am you, albeit one who strove for inner peace and spiritual well-being instead of power,"** his haloed counterpart said. " **And of course I did. I had little choice in the matter, due to our raft being sucked into the mists."**

"You rode a raft into the Grand Line?"

" **We ride a raft wheresoever we please."**

"Fair. Now, I'm going to try to see if I can kill my own liver, so if you have any spiritualist claptrap, save it for when I'm sober enough to retort," Vinci said flatly.

" **As it pleases you."**


	45. Chapter 69

"Okay guys, spill," I say, looking around at the various forms of...myself, I guess. Does this count as talking to myself?

Not one of them is actually human - hell, _I'm_ the one who looks closest to my original appearance, and isn't that just a lovely bundle of issues and potential dysmorphia waiting to happen!

Krasnyy snorts. "Spill what?" he asks, an unmistakable Russian accent coloring his words.

"What the hell's going on? There's four of us now, and in different universes? Did God go on a bender while I wasn't looking or something?"

"Or we're all copies of the original," Serif suggests, hands in the pockets of his faded red hoodie. "Could explain it."

"Okay, fine, but now we're all stuck in one place, and unless anyone here is master of the fabric of time and space…"

Krasnyy raises a hand.

"...in a way that isn't based around access to a hell-dimension filled with the laughter of thirsting gods."

Krasnyy lowers his hand.

"Okay, great. Ideas?"

"I'm literally made of explosions and piloting an armored shell of solidified ash," 42 says, deadpan. "If someone bothered to break the shell I'm fifty percent certain I'd end up on whatever equivalent of the angelic plane exists, and get free. Of course, the explosion would kill everyone else, but hey, one of us would get out."

"Yeah, full-on reality warping isn't really my style," Serif says. "I can conjure up some hefty stuff, like my blasters, but something that hurls everyone back to their proper reality...well, that's out of my league."

"Primarch, like you said, and while I'm _pretty_ sure the Warp isn't going to be a factor and it wasn't back in Russia, here, where the walls of reality are thin...you kind of have a point."

"And as for me, my talents mostly extend to cannibalism, regeneration, and creative murder attempts," I say. "Magicians we ain't. So. Allies?"

"Crew of former Spetznaz and assorted other Metro badasses, all of them are handy in a fight but not for breaking out of this," Krasnyy says.

"Gaara, obviously, but I managed to fix up his seal a great deal. Plenty of sand...but wrong kind of power."

"Ditto for Taylor, though if anyone has the expertise maybe we could hijack her shard…" Serif muses.

"And I've got a crew of assorted pirates, all of whom are dealing with at least three of their own doppelgangers right now," I finish. "And with all of them in one place, at least one of them has to have some idea of what to do and the power they'll need, right?"

"Sounds about right. Guy with the scars and the gold eyes, yeah?" Serif asks.

"That's Vinci. He's my captain."

"He's...interesting," Krasnyy says.

"If by interesting you mean utterly unconcerned with morals and most forms of ethics in medical experimentation, then yes."

"Try him first."

I nod. "Krasnyy, try to get your hands on that creepy version of him."

"Which-"

"The one in the robes."

"Fair. You going to talk to the original?"

"Nah. Going to find my Oni. I have a feeling that having my people at my back is going to be helpful."

"A feeling," 42 says, voice flat. "That's it?"

"Good enough to work with," I say calmly. "And even if it's wrong...they're _mine_ , and I want them close."

* * *

C was watching the Laurens carefully.

There were three. There should have been four, but he had long since realized that the crew that was following the glowing version of his captain was very difficult to find if they did not want to be found, and that they liked to watch.

One was his, and she looked almost bored, but her scent...she was on edge, and if the Marine made a move, C was fairly certain she'd start to put bullets in heads out of reflex. One hand was resting on the gas canisters at her hip, ready to start tossing hallucinogens.

The second was odd. A little paler, a little less lined and scarred, wearing Marine whites and carrying only a single rifle rather than the dozen-odd weapons Lauren had on her person. She was...afraid. Which was silly. She was dealing with herself, after all.

The last wore a suit that was black as C's irises, and she was ice. Not literally, but she smelled as cold and as harsh. Her expression was carefully blank.

"Pirate," the Lauren in white said, fingers twitching.

"Marine," his Lauren said calmly. Her hands were steady as she lit a cigarette.

"Those things will kill you," the Marine said.

"So? My captain will whip up some horrifying scientific miracle if I get cancer," Lauren replied. Her eyes scanned the Marine. "Seaman First Class, huh? Why'd you join them?"

"Why'd you turn your back on the people who saved us?" the Marine said, voice biting.

Lauren laughed. "Saved? The pirates were the ones who did that, not the Marines. Hell, the Marines didn't do much more than die."

"I...what? That's insane, the Marines brought a battleship…"

"Maybe where you're from they had the resources to do that. Ours? Only a passing frigate, and Machitus and his cult turned that to ash in seconds. They _died,_ and our rescue came at the hands of my captain and crew. So don't you _dare_ accuse me of turning my back on those who were too weak to do anything."

"That's…"

"Cold? Sure. I've had to learn how to be. In our world, if you can't be strong enough to fight...well, you'll die."

"Or, you could just make yourself indispensable to the strong ones," the icy Lauren interjected.

"Yeah? And what exactly is your way of doing that?" his Lauren asked.

Her counterpart smiled. "Simple. A little corporate takeover of Walker Arms...and making my designs the top tier of weaponry in the world, well, every Marine, pirate, and privateer on the seas knows that to remain a power, they need to buy from me and mine. I'm pretty sure both of you are better in a fight than I am, but can you claim to have ended and begun empires...or Emperors?"

"You-"

"Even they need to use a ship...and when the Marines can fire from beyond the horizon, in enough quantity that even the finest Observation Haki users can't dodge or block them all...well, there's not much to be done, is there?"

Lauren chuckled. "You know what? I like you, other me. Wonder if you'd mind sharing those designs?"

" **They're fun, aren't they?"** a voice said in C's ear.

C slowly turned his head.

The fourth Lauren wore rags and scars equally, tattered cloth and tattered skin, all topped with a too-wide grin. Her eyes danced, and her scent was cloying, power born of madness flickering across her skin.

C nodded in response to their question. "All the same person, and yet they don't like each other," he said with a smile. "It's funny."

" **Would you be the same, if you didn't have the same life?"**

"I have one life. The captain and brother made me, after all, and since brother only came to be with _my_ captain, not any of yours, I am not like you."

" **Nobody is like me, jabberwock."**

That name again. What was it with crazy people calling him that?

He briefly considered eating her, but he was pretty sure she counted as a civilian.

Maybe the Marine. The other Laurens didn't like her, and the Captain hadn't said anything about eating Marines.

" **Are you listening, jabberwock?"**

"My name is C."

" **Names don't matter. What you are does."**

"And what are you, then?"

" **I used to be a normal person, I think. And then...a book, a soul, madness and domination, and golden light to shatter it. I was born then, without a name."**

"Hm. I was made from the arm of a man who ate a Devil Fruit and who was worse than the Devil before that."

She laughed. " **You should worry. The man is still alive, isn't he?"**

"Maybe. But the Captain will kill him or worse if we cross paths again."

" **Perhaps, little jabberwock. Perhaps."** She smiled, revealing sharklike teeth. " **Try to stay alive, little one. You are too amusing to die."**

* * *

"You pissed that I'm a pirate?" Gin asked his counterpart.

"Nah," the Marine said, throwing back a beer. "Like your captain said. Your world's a fucked-up place. Not really surprising good guys and bad guys get mixed up, and we have the same kind of past, don't we?"

"Starving in alleys, getting beat up by shopkeepers, ended up on a pirate crew and had to kill at least three people because they were _sick_ bastards, yeah. How'd you get out?"

"Eh, got chained in the brig after the second, Marines boarded the ship and found me. You?"

"Killed my way up to the captain's chair, then Krieg showed up and killed most of them. Finished off the last of them, he seemed to find that funny. Then Krieg tried to go to the Grand Line, ran into Dracule Mihawk, and when we limped back picked a fight with Straw Hat Luffy."

"Wait, Straw Hat Luffy? Garp's grandkid?"

Gin froze. "Oh _hell_ no, that brat is...really? Ours wants to be Pirate King."

The Marine started laughing hysterically, nearly falling off his log.

"See, this shit is why I went into the bounty business," the third Gin, wearing what looked like a resized version of Krieg's old coat, said flatly. "No Pirate Kings, no Marine task forces after my blood...and I get to pick my own hours and take orders from nobody."

"Yeah, but what about people stronger than you?" Gin asked. "You need a captain for that...and one who's invested in his crew getting strong, too."

"See, now you're assuming I don't have friends to back me up."

"We're the same person. Not exactly a winning personality."

The bounty hunter smiled. "Don't need that when the prize is rich enough."

"Suppose that's fair," Gin allowed. "Not exactly great, but if it's worked for you…" He stood. "I'm gonna go grab some more beer. You want any?"

"Yeah, this is great stuff," the Marine said. "Where'd you find it?"

"Looted the Spice Archipelago after the World Government decided it'd be easier to murder the guy in charge rather than let him leave and take his resources with him," Gin said. "Long story, and not a fun one. But good beer."

The bounty hunter laughed. "Damn straight."

Gin wove through the crowd - the beach wasn't exactly big, being more a spit of land with some rails laid down for that giant contraption of Kaneki's doubles had ridden in on, and three-hundred-odd people crowding on it was pretty difficult to navigate through - and made his way to the table that Jack had set up. And, unlike just about everyone else, Jack was alone, without any doubles working with him.

"Hey," Gin said flatly, walking up to the table.

Jack just nodded, and plunked down four more mugs of beer. "There going to be trouble with yours?" he asked.

"No, we've got an understanding."

"Good. Herman's look like they want to kill each other, and Lauren isn't doing much better. Thank God C doesn't have any, one of _him_ is enough trouble to keep from eating people," Jack grumbled.

"Got to ask, what happened to yours?"

Jack glared at him. Gin glared back, and the bigger man sighed.

"Fine. Don't have any. Think about it - everyone here...well, they've had chances to have different fates. I was born and raised into the pirate life, and I was damn good at it. Becoming a Marine or having a normal civilian life...isn't for me." He snorted. "Either that, or they're all dead. Wouldn't be that surprising."

Gin blinked. "O...kay. Try to stay alive, will ya?"

"Pretty sure if I did get close to death, the Captain would just be pissed off enough to bring me back, and I don't want to make him that mad, so sure." Jack paused. "Oh, and once this is over, I'm going to need some help from you on inventory...and more once we reach the next port."

"Really? Aren't there others? I'm not exactly a bookkeeper."

"Captain's busy, Lauren's working on her guns, Kaneki's beating the new recruits into shape, Herman is either navigating or beating up everyone who even considers being a swordsman, C would get bored and wander off, and as for the general crew...don't trust them, or the ones I do trust can't read or do math or both. That leaves you."

"Fine."

* * *

Grigori Lisa felt like she was teetering over an abyss.

Pirates were...well, evil at times was too kind a word to describe them. They murdered, they raped, they stole, they ravaged towns and islands at a whim under the command of the powerful.

The Marines had been formed to stop just that, to hunt down the criminals of the world and subject them to justice.

And yet, here she was, watching a pirate - a pirate who was herself, albeit a guy, and that made things even more confusing - put away enough alcohol to give _Necessary Means_ ' entire crew liver failure. And her damn doppelganger didn't even have the decency to get drunk off of it!

Unlike herself, who was teetering over another metaphorical abyss in the shape of the booze taking effect. She had to admit, the pirates brewed something with enough bite that even she could feel it.

Now, if the Marines had let her experiment on _herself_ rather than sticking her with just volunteer test subjects…

Come to think of it, that was probably how her doppelganger was holding his own so well. He was wearing a shirt with a low V collar, and she could just make out the edge of what looked like surgical scars...hell, had he implanted a second liver or something?

She carefully set her half-full pitcher down in the sand of the beach, watching her doppelganger intently. Well, one of them. She wasn't sure where the way-too-smug-looking guy had gone and there was another, a skinnier, unscarred version of herself, who'd sat himself a little away from both of them and said nothing. Probably got off that cruise ship, and wasn't that just an odd concept to deal with...

Right. Time to get questions answered.

"So," she said, fighting through the buzz. "How, exactly, do I end up a pirate? And a guy?"

"Probably the whims of fate on the second one," her doppelganger says slowly, enunciating every word with excessive care. Guess he was drunker than he looked, because she did the same thing. "First one….dahahaha...could ask how you ended up a Marine. Haven't had faith in that institution since the 451 Degree Campaign."

"The what?"

Her doppelganger's eyes turned on her, and Lisa stared back. Her own eyes had become the color they had after a transplant from their stocks - the doctors had told her odd colorations in the iris were common, a side-effect of the methods they used to create organs and limbs for transplants - and she had to wonder what the story was for her doppelganger, to have the same eyes.

"Do you know about Ohara? Nico Robin?" her doppelganger asked softly.

"You mean the archaeologist island? I mean, they published a history of the Lost Times a while ago, but...and no, I've never heard of anyone with that name. Do you mean Nico Cardinal?"

Her doppelganger froze.

"No, Robin," their civilian counterpart said quietly. "She's supposed to be a wanted criminal, but in both our worlds, I really doubt that's true."

"In mine, the Marines unleashed a Buster Call on Ohara for studying the Void Century," her doppelganger said quietly. "Robin was the only one to escape, and because she could read the Poneglyphs, she was a danger to the World Government's rule, for reasons I still don't know. And so, to hunt her down - oh, and she was eight at the time - the Marines organized the 451 Degree Campaign, which essentially set most of the West Blue on fire. My - our - parents objected, among many others in their formation. Vice Admiral Sakazuki obliterated their fleet. And became Admiral Akainu."

"Sakazuki. 'Mad Hound' Sakazuki. _Emperor of the Sea and disgraced Vice Admiral Sakazuki,_ " Lisa said, voice shaking. " _He's_ an Admiral where you're from?"

"Yup. And according to my sources, when Sengoku retires he'll be the Five Elder Star's favorite to succeed him. I shudder to think of the slaughter that will result, but it's not like I can kill him. Yet."

Her counterpart's cold tone of voice, and the sheer fact that apparently his world was so twisted that _Sakazuki_ was an Admiral, nearly made Lisa pick up the bottle again. Only the arrival of an actual walking, talking skeleton - a sight that, even on the Grand Line, was unusual - made her stop.

"Hey, yo, any of you seen your creepy robed version?" the skeleton asked. "He's a pain in the ass to find for a guy who has his own personal halo."

" **What are you talking about? I've been here the entire time.** "

Lisa very carefully did not startle. Her civilian counterpart did. Her pirate counterpart, on the other hand, fell backwards off the driftwood he'd been using as a chair, before coming up with what looked like the bastard lovechild of a wide-gauge syringe, a bonesaw, and a chef's knife in each hand. "Don't _do_ that," he snarled.

" **It is not my fault you were not using your senses properly,"** her glowing counterpart said calmly.

"That's because if I open up my eyes to look at you properly I start bleeding you arrogant shit!"

"Well, if you experiment on yourself, it's only proper that it not work right," Lisa said, grinning.

" **Well,** _ **proper**_ **experimentation is most enlightening, not that you would know that, since your own efforts have been wasted on those without the ambition to use their gifts properly."**

"Now, see he-"

" _Could all of you shut the fuck up!"_ her civilian counterpart suddenly shouted.

Everyone stared as the thin, worried-looking man stood.

"We were in the god-damned South Blue. On _vacation._ And now I'm looking at all these versions of me and all of them are terrifying and _none_ of this makes any damn sense, so if you're all as smart as I am you should be fucking smart enough to pull your heads out of your asses and start figuring out how to get us out, not sit around drinking like a pack of idiots!" he snarled, breathing heavily. "So stop your arguing, go with the damn walking skeleton, and figure out how the hell we can all go home. _Now._ "

Lisa opened her mouth to respond.

That was when the Sea King attacked.


	46. Chapter 70

Vinci flipped the mental switch on his eyes the moment the monstrous golden serpent broke the surface, purely out of reflex.

The world slowed to a crawl, hundreds of shatterpoints instantly appearing, his eyes bleeding as they automatically picked out the presences of _whatever_ his glowing doppelganger's crew really was.

He forced his eyes to stop again, grinning as time sped back up and an immense barrage of attacks slammed into the Sea King in mid-roar.

Nearly a hundred wind blades, several hundred bullets, a couple tons of airborne sand and insects, several dozen arrows and other projectiles, a gigantic beam of energy, and one very surprised live chicken hit the Sea King at the same exact moment.

The Sea King didn't so much die as was instantly converted into a spray of red mist that splattered over everyone present.

Vinci cleared the blood from his eyes just in time to see Kaneki freeze, and then dive into the ocean, Shaving in mid-air before he hit the water with an enormous splash. What was he…?

The ocean erupted as Kaneki returned, carrying the immense trunk of the Sea King in his tendrils and hurling it onto the beach, before pouncing on it and tearing into it with tendrils, hands, and teeth.

Vinci froze for a moment as he processed exactly what was going on, before sprinting down the beach, doctor's bag in hand. "Kaneki!"

The ghoul whirled, a chunk of Sea King muscle in hand, his tendrils still busily skeletonizing everything they could reach. "Captain…"

Vinci grinned. "I know, Kaneki. You can eat this. And it's Sea King, stable living tissue, which means I can culture it. Which means…"

Kaneki threw back his head and laughed, something shining in the corners of his eyes. "Which means I don't have to hunt anymore. I can…" The words audibly caught in his throat, and he stopped, as black fluid - tears, Vinci realized - dripped from his eyes. "I don't have to be a cannibal anymore," he whispered.

Vinci nodded, opening a small jar and collecting the blood that was still pouring from the Sea King's corpse, adding a few drops of anticoagulant to the substance. "Damn straight. I'll have to run a few tests, just to make sure, but the fact your body isn't rejecting it outright tells me everything I need to know. And hey, now you can stop corrupting C with your nefarious ways."

"Go to hell, Captain," Kaneki said happily.

"Oh, I intend to bring that to earth at some point, no travel required. Mostly on the Marines."

"Might want to watch what you're saying, Captain, a good third of the people here are Marines…"

"Yes, but they're from a world where the Marines aren't nutjobs, so they don't count. And the fact that parallel timelines like that exist is both intriguing and slightly terrifying. Also, help me find your giant self later, I want a blood sample from him before we leave."

"And how _are_ we going to leave, Captain?" Kaneki said quietly, tendrils finally dissipating.

"Short version? Grab the me with the halo by the ankles and shake him until his secrets fall out."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Eh, I'll improvise."

"Last time you improvised, you burned down an island."

"Hey, it only ended up partially covered in lava, not burned down," Vinci retorted.

"Sure, captain. Sure. I'm sure convection isn't a problem," Kaneki snarked.

"It'll be fine, Kaneki. Stop being so dramatic in your worrying."

"It's not pessimism when the universe lives down to your expectations, captain."

Vinci pocketed his jar of blood with a sigh. "Go find your Oni and your brother, Kaneki. I'm going to go shake myself."

"Is _that_ what it's called these days?"

Vinci threw a scalpel at him, and the ghoul Shaved out of sight.

Fuck it. Time to break reality.

Again.

* * *

Herman narrowed his eyes at his counterpart's suddenly queasy expression as he returned Amakatta to its sheath. "Not bothered by a bit of blood and guts, are ya?" he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at where Kaneki - by now joined by C - was busy reducing Sea King corpse into Sea King bone.

"It's not that," his civilian self - a massively built man with biceps the size of small barrels - rumbled. "It's your blade. You know the damn thing's cursed, right?"

Herman shrugged. "Kind of figured, what with the voices in the back of my skull whenever I let loose. How'd you know?"

"I'm a blacksmith, it's my job to know these things. And you're...remarkably alright with it?"

"Eh, it's a blade. Curse or not, all that matters is it cuts down my enemies."

Another one of Herman's duplicates, this one a man with a greying beard and a strip of cloth wrapped around his eyes, tilted his head at him, and spoke for the first time.

" **Pathetic."**

"First thing out of your mouth, and it's an insult," Herman said flatly. "Honestly, should've expected that. You guys seem to be arrogant assholes."

" **Arrogance implies we are not as far above you as we are. And what do I have for counterparts? A blacksmith, a low-ranking Marine, and a fool who lacks the self-discipline to tame his own blade. Am I not correct?"**

The Marine in question glared, hands going to the ornate hilt of the katana at his hip. Herman sympathized, but very carefully did not move. His counterpart, though deserving of whatever happened to him, simply _screamed_ danger to every one of his instincts.

He might not be a fan of spiritual claptrap or most of the other idiotic ideas about fighting blind, but he knew well enough that Haki could make up for a lot of deficiencies, thanks to Kaneki. And the fact that the man's voice alone sent shivers down his spine...not the time to start a fight.

Didn't mean he couldn't needle the little shit back, though.

"Might be we're weaker than you, but I've noticed you and your fancy version of my captain don't exactly have a lot of friends around. You might be stronger...but, funnily enough, I bet you were too weak to protect your crew. Am I not correct?" he asked in a mocking tone.

His blind counterpart bared teeth. " **Do not presume to talk about things of which you have no knowledge,** _ **whelp.**_ "

Herman laughed. "Hit a nerve, did I? Aren't you supposed to be enlightened? Above anger?"

The blind man paused, and then smiled. " **In a better world...perhaps, whelp, perhaps. But this is the real world, and the urge to cut down your opponent is just and fair. Keep a civil tongue in your head, and you will not experience it."**

"It's surprising," the Marine said quietly, unsheathing his blade. "I would not have expected any version of myself to be such an asshole, and yet here we are." He glared at the blind man, as the conversations around Herman's knot of duplicates stilled and people began to move aside. "For your insults...I want compensation."

" **Granted.** _ **One Hundred and Eight Pound Staff."**_

The cane in the blind man's hands blurred.

Herman saw it in an instant. The Marine was unprepared, his sword not up to guard properly. The cane would crush the man's throat, unless-

The cane slammed into Amakatta with an impact that rattled Herman's bones, but he did not waver. "Now, what do you think you're starting?" he growled.

" **Stay out of this, fool."**

"Yeah, nah. He's a Marine, and kind of an idiot -"

"Hey!"

"- but he is basically me, and I'm not exactly comfortable with seeing him dead."

" **He is weak. His death or life do not matter."**

The cane pressed downward, and Herman stepped back and to the side, taking up more of the burden. He smiled. "So? Everyone's weak, at some point. Doesn't matter. Still gonna kick both your asses if you start fighting."

" **Do you think you have the power to stop me?"**

Herman shook his head. "No. But that's what friends are for."

That was when a gigantic albino hit the blind man in the back of the head with an iron club. The idiot dropped.

Herman nodded his thanks to Tancred Pamca as the most physically imposing member of Kaneki's Oni was joined by the rest of his fellows.

The blind idiot made to get up - huh, he must've been pretty tough - and froze as a spearpoint, various swords, and Percy's Size Twelve steel-toed boots parked themselves on various portions of his anatomy.

"Heeeeeyyyy, buddy," Eka drawled from his position seated atop the blind man's back. "Seems you don't quite get how things are supposed to go." The dao in his hand dug slightly into the blind man's neck. "See, we're all stuck here for the moment. Starting a fight and throwing around some collateral damage? Big no-no. Heck, our boss would handle you, but he's a mite busy at the moment."

" **My captain will…"**

"Do fuck and all, if he knows what's good for him. Now, are you going to be cooperative, or do I have to present some apologies alongside your head to mister golden and glowing?"

" **...Fine. Let me up."**

Eka leapt up, and the Oni retracted their weapons, letting the blind man get to his feet.

"I could've handled him," the Marine muttered.

Herman barked laughter, elbowing his white-hat counterpart in the ribs. "Sure, short stuff."

"I'm not fucking short. You're a giant. And how the hell did you get so tall anyway?"

"You try swinging around a sword your own height and not put on some height of your own, other me. That, or you could just eat a Zoan Devil Fruit."

"Devil Fruits and cursed swords…" the blacksmith rumbled. "You've had an interesting life, haven't you?"

"Pirate. Comes with the territory."

Amakatta _hummed_ as he returned it to its sheath.

* * *

"So?" I ask the trio of Krasnyy, Vinci, and God-Emperor 2: Electric Boogaloo: Now In Frankenstein Format.

Ugh, I seriously need sleep…

 _Or sanity._

Or that, intrusive thoughts in my head.

The trio exchange glances.

"So, after looking at the underlying reality of this place…" Krasnyy begins.

"You floated in place for ten seconds and then exploded a chicken," Vinci deadpans.

"Where... _did_ we get that chicken?" Lisa asks.

" _The chicken is not important,"_ Krasnyy snarls. "What _is_ is that we have an idea of how to get out of here."

"And that is?"

"We're going to punch it."

Deep breaths, Kaneki. "Punch. It," I growl.

"Eh, metaphorically, anyway. The backlash from us breaking the pocket dimension should hurl everyone back to their respective worlds."

"Should."

"I'm a Primarch, not a multiversal mechanics expert."

"So what I'm hearing is, you guys have no idea what'll happen but you're going to hope it's good and won't kill us all," I say flatly, quietly noting that yes, extreme annoyance _can_ turn your vision red with suppressed rage.

"GROARRRR!"

"Excuse me for a moment," I say neutrally, before forcing my wings out and half-Shaving half-flying through the air to axe kick the Sea King in the snout. "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU PHALLICALLY-SHAPED EXCUSE FOR AN AQUATIC MENACE!"

The Sea King _slams_ into the beach, the impact scattering people and making the ships at anchor bob, before I fall from the sky and impact its skull again, sending another shockwave through the earth. My wings vanish, and my tendrils take their place before piercing the creature's skull. Its struggles stop. "Where. The fuck. Are these things coming from?!" I shout. "What the hell do they even eat? Each other?"

My tendrils are working as I shout, pulling in sweet liquid life, a taste far better than human, like a rich tender steak - _this_ is what I've needed for so long.

A way out.

 _A source of power._

"C!" I call. "Get your ass over here and try this!"

Some of the civilians look terrified. Eh, fuck 'em.

Wait, they aren't looking at me...

"GROARRR!"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

* * *

"STARBOARD GUNS, FIRE!" Lauren shouted at the top of her lungs as another pair of Sea Kings surfaced. _Ends Justified_ 's weapons roared, standard-issue cannonballs slamming into the massive serpents and the water around them, as people screamed (mostly civilians) and ran onto their respective vessels (everyone, though for widely differing reasons).

A coruscating beam of light ripped through the air, neatly decapitating two of the Sea Kings already present, and Lauren looked over her shoulder, to where the skeleton was standing on a floating platform of sand, surrounded by equally skeletal dragon heads.

Damn, if she could figure out how those worked…

Not the time, girl.

She levelled her rifle at another knot of these _fucking_ Sea Kings, firing as quickly as she could work the bolt. The heavy projectiles weren't good enough to pierce the scales unless at extremely close range, but - three of the six Sea Kings fell without a sound -her aim was _very_ good. And _eyes_ didn't have the kind of armor to stop her sabots.

The Marine ship was firing too, their gunnery a great deal better than hers and their attacks more disciplined in general - she'd never seen air blades fired in volleys like that, but the Sea Kings weren't getting any closer than a hundred meters and the sea was turning crimson with alarming rapidity - but the civilians didn't have any guns, and the creatures were barely being held at bay by -

Lauren ducked as Kaneki slammed into the deck, turning a line of planks into splinters before being stopped by the mast. The ghoul got to his feet, eyes blazing above that _extremely_ disconcerting toothy mask. One arm dangled, before abruptly resetting itself with a crack. "Fucking serpents," the ghoul slurred, wavering slightly on his feet, almost falling.

Lauren caught him - _monster or not, they were still crew, dammit-_ and put a shoulder under his arm, keeping him upright. "Hey, no sleeping on the job, you get me?" she joked, other hand putting more heavy rifle rounds downrange. Accuracy _and_ fire-rate suffered, but again, crew.

"Not a damn chance," Kaneki muttered.

"Got a plan?"

"Captains do," the ghoul grunted, straightening slightly, no longer unsteady. "Don't know how they're gonna do it, with these things swarming. Is this place a breeding ground or something?"

"With our luck? Yes."

"Fucking hell, we opened up a buffet for them." The ghoul's wings burst back into existence, and he cracked his neck. "Hold the line, I guess."

"Damn straight," Lauren replied.

Kaneki launched himself back into the fray, and Lauren watched long enough to see him slam into another Sea King, hurling it back into the ocean. At the same time, an _immense_ air blade came from where Herman was on the beach, turning three of them into chum.

She grinned. The most terrifying things in the seas, and against this crew…

Wait, was that a fucking raft?

She ran to the rail, barely noticing as the guns fired again, and confirmed that yes, that was a raft - with every single one of her crew's creepiest doppelgangers aboard.

Part of her - a part that had been growing louder and louder ever since the Archipelago - briefly considered targeting the next barrage on there, just so she didn't have to put up with the arrogant and/or crazy pricks anymore.

She hadn't been too busy taking ideas from her other self that she hadn't noticed how deranged her counterpart on that crew had been, nor had she missed how some of the others had acted. Herman's had been the worst, but Vinci's was almost as bad.

She discarded it, though. Small in number or not, they had Sea Kings to handle instead. Ammunition wasn't to be wasted.

...and that was an extremely disconcerting shimmer occurring in front of the raft, what the hell-

Something clicked in her mind, and she cupped her hands around her mouth. "GET CLEAR!"

" _ **CEASE."**_

Everything in front of the raft - water, mist, derelict ships, and Sea Kings - just... _vanished_ , as _something_ swatted them aside like the hand of God. Lauren swore she glimpsed sea bed before a light began to burn in the center of the Mists, and winds began to blow, forcing her to hold onto the rail and close her eyes against the light-

The bottom dropped out from her stomach, shortly followed by the deck dropping out from under her feet, screams ringing in her ears as the Nightmares panicked-

Then the deck came back and smacked her in the face.

Lauren opened her eyes with a groan, before pushing herself into a sitting position and snapping her nose back into place with a grimace. She ignored the throbbing pain as she slowly got to her feet, staring around her wildly.

Empty sea, for miles around. No mist, no derelicts, no doppelgangers…

"HAH! We made it! Nothing's gonna stop us now!" she shouted.

There was a splintering noise, and the mainmast, damaged from Kaneki impacting it earlier, slowly tipped sideways before breaking off entirely and sinking into the depths.

"God damn it, Lauren," the captain said quietly.


	47. Chapter 71

"How're you doing down there?" Vinci asks.

I push my head back above water, and glare as acidly as I can without trying to repeat the incident on the Spice Archipelago.

"I am pushing an entire fucking frigate with my tails and stubbornness because _the living goddamn embodiment of penis envy_ slapped me into the mainmast, how do you think I am doing?"

"You're far too obsessed with the Sea King's appearance, is what I think. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Fuck you, captain," I growl.

"See, this is why I'm curious. Oh, and could you aim a bit more to the left? Jack says we're a bit overweighted on the right thanks to our loot."

I actually growl at him, but I keep pushing anyway, making a minor shift to my spinning tendrils. It's taking all six to move the ship, and even with the wind and the full spread of canvas from the mizzen and fore masts, we're still limping along...but if it makes the difference between reaching the next island or starving, I'll happily pitch in.

There's another reason, too - it's hot as hell at the moment, and quite frankly the accumulated body odor of a hundred or so pirates, some of whom refuse to take off their cloaks and other shit, is approaching overwhelming levels (and the sweat and scent tends to make my stomach growl for _entirely different_ reasons). Immersing myself in water prevents me from smelling that, thankfully.

And there's a third, one I haven't brought up with my captain.

I've always had more success meditating in motion. Repetitive, soothing work, that clears the mind. And that's what this is for.

It's time to go digging in my brain.

Not just to see what is there, whatever bestial core instincts took over on the Archipelago...but also to see if I can control them or at least tame them. Because what I saw in the Mists…it reminded me of just how far I have to go, if I want to be able to fulfill my master's wishes, and my own.

I will need _power_ , and that power is _there_.

So I will take it.

My tails spin rhythmically, and my breath slows as I tread water, eyes closed. In. Out. Just focus on pushing the ship…

* * *

 _There was a place that was not a place, a hill of white clover._

 _It was currently occupied by a very large dragon._

 _A boy approached the hill, and the dragon cracked open an eye._

 **Oh, child? What brings you here at last? In trouble again? You should know I won't be so kind if I must save you again,** _it said, snorting embers from its nostrils._

 **Not trouble** , _the boy said._ **Unless you plan to make some.**

 _The dragon laughed._

 **Trouble is all you bring on yourself, boy. You locked me away to walk among weaker men, you scavenged from the dead like some vulture rather than hunting worthy prey. I think** _, it declared, the embers becoming a cloud of flame,_ **that I shall make whatever trouble I please. You cut your own wings away, child, and sealed them with me...but I can still fly, and you cannot.**

 _A pipe appeared in the boy's hands, and a necklace of jade commas around his neck. The boy lit his pipe, and watched the dragon with empty eyes._ **I cannot let you,** _he said._

 **Let me?** _The dragon's laugh shook the hill and sent a cloud of smoke to blot out the sun in its cloudless sky._ **Kyakyakakakakakakakakakakaka...you cannot stop me.**

 _The boy smiled in the third way, and the terrible Blade of Want, infinitely sharp and edgless, appeared in one hand._ **I can kill you.**

 **And then I would win, child, for in doing so you would become me,** _the dragon said, baring fangs the length of the boy's body._ **A monster again, and that is a fate you have always tried to avoid, isn't it?**

 _The boy laughed, blue eyes like ice._ **Better a monster with a mind than a weakling that cannot control himself in a fight,** _he said._ **And it would silence you, would it not? It's only here and now I know your voice for what it is, funny, that. I wonder if my captain could cut it out?**

 _The dragon paused, then, and glared down at the boy, claws carving furrows in the white clover._ **What do you want, child?** _it snarled._

 **Power.**

 **Then you are a fool,** _the dragon said._

 **As are all pirates, kingslayers, and thieves,** _the boy said calmly._

 _The dragon smiled in the second way at that, and lowered its head to face the boy eye to eye._ **You know what price I will demand.**

 **Blood, and slaughter, and the end to all in the way of the path to glory,** _the boy replied, smiling in the first way, that which was pure as mountain air._ **It shall be paid.**

 _The dragon laughed._ **For fire and air, tendrils and wings, your price is paid. For earth and water, shields and tails, greater debts will be needed to be settled.** _It grinned a terrible grin._ **Can you bear the weight of those sins, child?**

 **As many as I must,** _the boy said._

 **Very well,** _the dragon rumbled._ **Let your education begin.**

* * *

Vinci sniffed at the air as _Ends Justified_ sailed along, albeit with some ghoulish help.

A pity they didn't have the timbers to rig up a suitable replacement. They had plenty of corpses in the hold, to be sure, but it would be a week or more at the pace they were setting, and with Kaneki using his tendrils and working nearly constantly...that could strain things quite a bit. Well, they could always hope a Sea King would pick a fight…

And that was a sentence he'd never thought he'd utter. Funny how having your own personal attack cannibal changed one's perspective.

 _Ends Justified_ creaked slightly, shifting in the waves.

Alright, he was being unfair. Kaneki was a great deal more than an attack dog. He'd started off as a rescuer and fascinating biological mystery, and while he'd replaced the former role with a subordinate one as Vinci's most capable right hand, his biology was still fascinating. And a dangerous temptation for Vinci himself…

Oh, not in the sense of making himself like Kaneki, not entirely - others might shed their humanity easily, but Vinci would cling to it forever, it was what _defined_ him.

No, Kaneki's temptation was in the urge to _use_ him, to encourage him to give in to the inhuman instincts he struggled so hard to keep at bay. A ghoul was a useful weapon and a far more useful ally.

But Vinci had not forgotten his promises. Not the one to allow Kaneki - and any other ghouls - to live without the need to devour humans.

And not the earlier one, to cure Kaneki entirely, to make him human again in body as well as mind, if it were possible. Kaneki himself may have forgotten it, may have buried it under the necessities of power, but Vinci...Vinci refused to.

If it could be done, if he could find a way (and he was starting to suspect he _could_ , on this sea of dreams and madness)...then he would, even if it would rob the Nightmares of their biggest powerhouse. If that was what Kaneki still wanted…

Vinci sniffed at the air again, and made a face.

"Something wrong, captain?" Lauren asked, looking up from her examination of the rough-looking rifle one of the train folk had given her.

"Embalming fluid," Vinci answered.

"Embalming fluid?"

"Yes. I can smell it on the air."

"Maybe it's coming from your lab."

"One, my lab is sealed, you should know that after the amount of time I've let you make your vile chemical concoctions in it. Second, even if my lab sprung a leak, I wouldn't dare use stuff of this poor quality."

"And I thought C had a good nose…"

"I took samples and spent some time optimizing the nerves and receptors. And whatever is smelling like embalming fluid... it's on the wind."

"So, behind us."

The captain and the armoress shared a look.

Both sprinted for the quarterdeck simultaneously.

* * *

"That," Jack said slowly, training his spyglass on the object, "is a big fucking ship. I think the damn thing's actually a battleship, it has the same hull. No gun turrets or super-heavy guns...looks like they've rigged up some sort of harpoon launchers instead of turrets."

"Any idea who they are?"

"Not sure on the jolly roger yet, but the size limits it. And they're hunting us, which makes it just one. The Necromongers."

"Lovely," the captain said with a groan.

"Yup. Their captain reanimates the dead as skeletal thralls. Burned a lot of islands to the ground. And he's got some freaky... _things_ as officers. According to what few survivors that are sane at the end, it's something about scientific research and specimens or whatever. Nutjob."

"Really, now," Vinci growled, golden light starting to gather in his eyes.

"Are you guys going to be friends?" C asked innocently.

Vinci took in a deep breath, and let it out again. "That depends. Can we outrun them?"

"Unless Kaneki grows rockets, they've got more canvas, are on the same wind, and are closing _alarmingly_ quickly for a ship that huge," Herman growled. "Nope."

"Then, no, C, we're going to be killing that _charlatan of a scientist."_

"Oh. Can I eat them?"

"No, since I can smell the stench from here they're probably filled with toxic preservatives. Kaneki!"

No Kaneki appeared.

"Right. KANEKI, GET YOUR ASS BACK UP HERE, WE HAVE PEOPLE WHO NEED THEIR TESTES KICKED INTO THEIR CRANIUMS!"

There was an alarmingly loud splash as Kaneki appeared on the rear rail, dripping wet and looking rather annoyed. His tails lashed in the air for a moment before shrinking away. "How many, why, where?" the ghoul asked.

"A lot, they're an affront to medical science, and they're right behind us."

"Going to be in cannon range in a few minutes, actually," Jack supplied. "Pity, I was going to start working on my hammer today."

"Impact and Flame Dial attachment points with an arming mechanism in the handle, right?" Lauren asked. "Fixed that up already. Was going to test it out, but…"

Jack eyed the girl in surprise for a moment.

"What? I'm in charge of the armory. That includes your hammer of compensation," the dark-skinned gun-witch replied dryly, loading shotgun shells into a sawn-off. "And I had a spare hour last night, and you left your notes lying around."

Jack just nodded. "...thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Right," the ghoul said, eyeing the approaching vessel. "We going to turn and fight?"

" _Yes_ ," Vinci growled, hands tightening on his saws.

"Great. GET YOURSELVES READY, YOU PACK OF DOGS! LOAD THE CANNON, SHARPEN YOUR SWORDS, TAKE UP YOUR PISTOLS! WE HAVE BOARDERS TO REPEL AND A RIVAL TO SLAY, NOW MOVE!"

The deck of _Ends Justified_ exploded into activity as Jack dug a finger in his ear, wincing. He hadn't figured Kaneki had that kind of volume.

There was a roar of gunfire from the approaching vessel, and Vinci's irises spun as his hands blurred into motion. A chain of explosions filled the sky with smoke and fire in the next instant.

"Pravilno, Lauren, C, stay here, shoot down anything that they fire our way," he ordered. "Herman? Bring us about and set us to cross their bows, then get ready to fight. Kaneki, Gin, you're with me. Jack, get your hammer and our best fighters and join us."

"Aye, captain," everyone chorused.

* * *

The Necromongers drew closer and closer under the roar of their guns, relentlessly reducing the distance. Everyone could make out the Jolly Roger, now, a twisted image of a skull surrounded by surgical instruments billowing from the largest mast of the immense vessel.

Gin just wanted the damn thing to charge in, already. The waiting was intolerable, and the constant cannon fire wasn't particularly helping.

Nor was it actually hurting anyone, as far as he could tell. For the Necromongers, the sheer size of their vessel and its immensely thick timbers meant _Ends Justified's_ guns couldn't deal enough damage, though there were spots where the cannonballs had managed to find a way in - mostly gunports, and it was a damn good thing they had a gun making genius on board, or their cannons wouldn't have had the accuracy for those shots.

For the Nightmares…

 _Boom-oom-oom-oom!_

"Reloading!"

Well, Lauren was pushing the boundaries of how quickly one could track and fire, Pravilno backing her up, while C just tossed the shells back at them.

Either way, it resulted in a whole lot of nothing, albeit the kind of nothing with lots of explosions happening.

And all the while, the enemy got closer. They'd be in range of those harpoons soon…

 _Thoom. Thoom. Thoom._

The hell? That wasn't cannon-fire. It was something else, the sound of countless feet stamping against a deck at once.

 _Thoom-thoom-thoom._

And it was getting faster the closer the enemy got. The gunports were closing, the harpoon launchers on the bow swinging into place...

 _Thoom-thoom-thoom-thoom-thoom-_

And then it stopped, the Nightmares staring frozen up at the ship, the only sound the fluttering of the flags and sails in the wind.

The harpoon launchers fired.

" _Incoming!_ "

Gin spun his tonfas, slapping one of the massive spears out of the air with an impact that rattled his bones- even though he wasn't using his powers - before looking around. Over a dozen of the damn things were embedded in the ship, and the cables were already drawing taut.

"Well don't just fucking stand there!" he shouted at the crew. "Cut the damn things!"

 _That_ got them moving, and the deck became a blur of motion once again as cutlasses, katanas, and the occasional Tempest Kick cut at the cables. Four of them frayed and snapped nearly instantly, another three soon following.

It still wasn't quick enough, as what seemed like a small army appeared at the rails of the enemy vessel, and began to slide down the remaining cables, forcing the crew to ready themselves -

Okay, those were fucking skeletons coming down the cables.

Gin decided not to question it.

" _Resonant Frequency: Bone."_

At least it would make his job a lot easier.


	48. Chapter 72

Vinci didn't ask for much.

A well-equipped lab, capable subordinates, the occasional idiot to volunteer themselves as test subjects by attacking his crew, ultimate knowledge over the inner workings of the universe, and shipboard food that tasted decent (a hundred crew and none of them a decent cook, something that _needed_ to be rectified when they reached the next port).

Where did that get him? Attacked by _walking impossible skeletons._

"HOW DO YOU FUNCTION?!" he shouted, saws cleaving another pair of the damn things from scapula to pelvis and sending the shattered bones falling to the deck.

"It's Devil Fruit Bullshit, Captain," Kaneki said flatly as his wings separated another set of skulls from their spinal columns. "Stop questioning it and focus on returning them to death."

"Hmph." Vinci spun on his heel, leg lashing out and sending an armored skeleton crashing into a crowd of its fellows, pitching them all off the deck and into the depths below. With that bit of breathing room, he let his sight open up fully, scanning for weak points. A Devil Fruit implied a user, and if a user was taken out, the effect faded with them.

The starry cracks of weaknesses crossed his vision, and Vinci grinned as he saw them converge in the distance, back on board the enemy vessel. "OFFICERS! WITH ME! WE'RE BOARDING THE ENEMY!"

"AYE, CAPTAIN!" came the answer from his best fighters, as the pace of ongoing violence increased, if such a thing were possible. Impact Dials, Finger Pistols, and countless weapons tore apart the skeletal fighters, and that was just the 'normal' crew. The officers were in another category entirely.

Gin's tonfa were reducing the ambulatory bones to powder, surrounded by the blur of his Devil Fruit ability, Jack's hammer was hurling them overboard by the dozens, Lauren's gunfire was shattering their skulls, C was ripping them apart with their own weapons, and Herman was laughing as he cleaved them in two with every swing. The Oni were a multi-headed blur of violence and weaponry, pushing towards him as they heeded his order.

Well, he had at least _one_ of the things on his list.

Vinci leapt up and kicked off the air, making his way to the looming bulk of the Necromonger battleship. The moment he cleared the rail, he swung his leg forward, firing off a Tempest Kick. At this distance it didn't do much more than knock over some of the skeletons standing around, but that was more than enough to buy him some room to land. His saws blurred as he began to cut down the walking corpses, and the fresh sound of battle behind him told him that his crew had followed his example.

"DAHAHAHAHA! IS THIS YOUR BEST? IS THIS WHAT THE NECROMONGERS CAN DO? WHERE ARE YOUR MONSTERS? BRING THEM, AND FACE ME!"

There was a very large thud to his left, and Vinci paused, looking up and _up._ Well. _That_ was clearly the captain - a giant of a man, covered in layer after layer of coats and scarves, only a shining pair of round spectacles indicating that the man was glaring at him. Vinci bowed, absent-mindedly hurling a couple of scalpels to cut free the heads of a few of the more adventurous skeletons before they could do the same to him. "Well, that will do quite nicely," he said with a widening grin.

"Grigori Vinci," the giant said, waving a hand - the skeletons retreated from the two of them - and tilting his head. "A fellow scientist...well, you and your crew should prove quite useful. And I have wanted to see if my powers can preserve a living brain. Your skill will prove useful, once properly molded. And your soldiers...especially the Butcher Bird, they will make _excellent_ specimens."

Vinci's grin vanished from his face. A soft smile replaced it.

"Really, now," he said quietly. "You know, I met someone like you recently. Same sort of god complex. A bit more showy about it, a lot more powerful...but the same kind."

 _Ba-_ _ **bum**_ _._

"Let me show you what I wanted to do to him," Vinci growled, as he called the lightning, popping a black pill into his mouth. " _MONSTER MODE!"_

* * *

I can't help but whistle as I see a very large man hurtle through the air and turn part of the enemy ship's superstructure into kindling on impact, an electricity-wreathed Vinci plowing through the skeletal hordes after him. "Damn, was he always able to do that?" I comment to the surrounding skeletons.

They don't answer, beyond trying to kill me. Ah, well, wings. _"Butcher's Feathers."_

The spray of crystals isn't as effective as it would be on fleshy opponents, but the skeletons are packed so close I can't help but down quite a few of them, the others being knocked aside by the force of the projectiles. That still leaves...well, several hundred more. Hmph. If our crew were as weak as usual pirates, the skeletons would be dangerous, but as it is...not so much.

 _A pity. Meat on the bone would be better, but these things probably lack even marrow._

I mentally sigh in annoyance at the Dragon's voice in my head. _Not everything is about food. And Vinci's going to work on a Sea King fricassee anyway, so even if these fellows lack something to rejuvenate us…_

 _Feh. Sea Kings. Weak little serpents._

I raise an eyebrow as my wings rip a squadron of spear-wielding skeletons to shreds. _You're one to talk._

 _Hush. Focus on mastering air._

 _Your insistence on metaphors is extremely grating._

 _I_ am _a metaphor, so blame your overactive imagination. Also, on your left._

 _Wha-_

An immense force _slams_ into the side of my head, and I feel my feet leave the ground for a moment, before a wooden structure breaks my fall.

Ow.

I stagger to my feet, wings lancing out half on instinct to pick up some pieces of blood and bone. Did I explode someone on impact or something?

 _Hm. Bitter and filled with chemicals, just as you counselled the Jabberwock. And you should watch your opponent._

Right. I crack my neck, focusing on the figure approaching me through the rapidly thinning crowd of skeletons.

He's a big fucker, as tall as Jack and actually built on a normal scale at that. But there's something... _wrong_ , and I don't mean the oddly fixed grin on his face or the scars on his nearly-spherical bald head. His skin doesn't move properly, nor do the muscles underneath it- and I have a view of most of them, since the only clothing he has on is a pair of blue shorts - and he walks stiffly and slowly.

 _Eating this one would probably be a bad idea._

 _You think?_

I yank a largish splinter out of my shoulder, blood soaking the side of my grey tank top. Shouldn't I be tougher than this? I've taken bullets before…

 _Air lacks the defenses of the other possibilities, being, well, air. Its province is evasion and ranged attack, not absorbing damage._

 _Figures_. I nod to the big guy. "You got a name, Mr. Smiley?"

All I get in response is a middle finger and an odd scraping shout.

Well, then. " _Butcher's Feathers."_

My opponent brings up his arms to cover his face as the crystals hurtle towards him - and bounce off or are otherwise deflected off his skin in a shower of sparks.

Oh, crap. _Shave-_

I barely dodge the punch that turns the deck in front of me into splinters, reflexively firing off another spray of shards that does jack and all to the - whatever the hell he is. Armament user? Mutant? Botched taxidermy experiment?

I flow around another blow with Paper Art, wings slicing at him again ineffectually, before leaping up and away, kicking off the air and perching on the side of a mast. My opponent just stares at me, cracking his knuckles.

 _Air is speedy, light, and able to cut at a distance, but it lacks power. Perhaps…_

 _Yeah, yeah. Metaphors._

I smile.

 _Let's try_ _ **fire.**_

* * *

Herman, dare he say it, was bored.

Heh.

Maybe seeing his counterparts- one weak, one arrogant, and one wise - had jarred a screw loose in his brain. Because this battle just... didn't _do_ it for him.

He'd never been one to seek out challenges or anything so stupid- he had enough troubles already- but…

He sighed as his blade tore another swath through the skeletons. Beside him, the ship's hounds - which he could swear were bigger and meaner since they'd first come on board, what was the captain mixing into their food? - fought just as effectively - probably more so, this was like a treasure trove to them.

Well, he may be a dog-man, but he could do with something more invigorating than just bones.

"Dammit, couldn't you at least put up a challenge? This is _boring_ , is what it is. You come to all this trouble to hunt us, and you can't put up a decent fight? Pretty disgraceful."

Vinci must be rubbing off on him. He wasn't typically this mouthy.

"Come on! Give me a challenge!"

Yes, definitely Vinci. It had nothing to do with the thrill he'd felt fighting for his life on the Archipelago, the satisfaction of cutting down an objectively superior opponent, nothing to do with how... _bland_ these faceless, shambling hordes seemed in comparison.

Nothing at all.

…

Dammit, what was wrong with him? He wasn't supposed to be the same kind of blood-lusted idiot that Wyald had been, that Kaneki was showing signs of being. Sure, he'd had his moments, his anger giving him strength, or times when he'd been running on rage like in Crucix...but he was supposed to be better than that...right?

"What do you think?" he asked the silent skeletons, who merely watched with empty eyes, little sparks of green light suspended in each gaping socket. The dogs at his side snarled and growled.

That...was weird.

It got weirder, as the skeletons slowly backed away, leaving a wide open space around Herman. He narrowed his eyes, hefting Amakatta again and watching as the tension grew and grew.

 _Thoom._

Oh, hell.

 _Thoom._

He'd just _had_ to open his mouth, hadn't he?

 _Thoom._

What advanced through the ranks of the skeletons stood nearly twice their height. It was clad in armored plate that looked more like it belonged on a battleship, nary a weakness to be seen. The blade in its hands was built on the same scale, a double-edged monstrosity nearly as long as the thing wielding it. Green lights blazed in the slit of its visor.

Herman couldn't help but smile, even if he hated why he was doing it.

"You got a name, big guy?"

As if in answer, the long-dead knight raised its blade...a blade that Herman realized, with a start, that he recognized from his readings.

"Furaian. The Edged Shield. One of the fifty Skillful Grade Blades. And in a dead man's hands…"

Amakatta _purred_ in his hands.

"Well, I think it's time to see what you can do, big guy. _White Fang!"_

The air blade lanced through the air, and the undead knight moved to meet it, shattering the attack with a swing that sent howling winds to knock over the skeletons observing the fight.

This time, Herman didn't bother denying that he was grinning.

Or that _this_ was what he wanted.

He charged, Amakatta howling in his hands and his mind, his hounds howling alongside.

* * *

Gin _liked_ this crew.

For one, they didn't expect him to do all the heavy lifting.

"Yahahaha! I fucking love this job!"

"Hold the line! Lock shields!"

"GIN!"

Gin jumped into the air as a line of Nightmares raised their guns and opened fire, batting down more of the skeletons as the heavy rifle rounds smashed through bone. He landed behind the line, and took a moment to catch his breath and keep an eye on the battle.

The Necromonger vessel was a huge thing, and there were a dozen separate miniature wars going on as the officers clashed with stronger opponents and small packets of the crew fought the skeletons. To one side, Herman clashing against some sort of gigantic knight, snarling and raging. To another, the ex-Rangers moving through the crowds with liquid speed, slashing and firing off arrows. At another front, the ex-Steel-Shields, a wall of death that sheltered other Nightmares who occupied themselves tossing grenades over the shield wall to consume the skeletons in explosions. On yet another, C laughing as he hurled a massive assemblage of flesh, metal, and weaponry at skeletons and made a fair impression of bowling.

And then there were his guys. A dozen of those who he'd, dare he say it, made friendships with over the long weeks of war and sailing. Crack shots, and good fighters all of them. Not up to the physical par of say, the Oni - they weren't nearly as crazy as Kaneki's pack of quasi-ghoulish berserkers - but they made up for it in teamwork and damn good guns.

A hole opened up in the rifle line, and Gin leapt forward again, tonfas swinging. " _Exorcism!"_

The attack ripped through the skeletons like a rock through wet paper, sending bones and dust flying into the air as the vibrations shattered them.

Heh. Appropriate name for the attack, at least. Putting down the unquiet dead.

Gin dodged the clumsy sword strokes of a new pair of skeletons, tonfa swinging up as one and sending their heads hurtling into the sky.

And then he heard it. A bass thrum, right on the edge of hearing, something that rattled the bones and was getting stronger by the second.

" _Fortissimo."_

"Get clear!" he shouted, before his world became noise and pain.

Consciousness trickled back with a ringing in his ears and a curious red tint to his vision...oh, wait, that was blood.

He spat more of the red liquid onto the deck as he pushed himself up from his prone position onto hands and knees, looking around desperately. Where had that…?

He froze, as he caught a glimpse of where his friends had been fighting. Only splintered planks and gore remained.

Some animal instinct told him to run, and he leapt forwards, as a blast of noise ripped where he'd lain apart.

 _There._

Gin wiped the blood out of his eyes as he got a good look at what the skeletal crowds - crowds that, he realized, were little more than dust drifting on the wind now - had been hiding.

A pipe organ. An immensely broad and squat one, tucked into a structure built around one of the lesser masts. In the center, an equally squat and broad figure, four abnormally thin eight-fingered arms set to play on the keys. It looked at Gin, and its face - a mess of scar tissue and mismatched skin tones - formed into a smile.

Gin staggered into a more upright position, and began to spin his tonfa.

* * *

Lauren paused for a moment, letting a couple of the other Nightmares keep fighting while she fixed her gas mask to her face - the air _reeked_ of gunpowder.

That little fact saved her life, as she caught someone - someone not in Nightmare white - raising a weapon to attack her in the reflection of the gas mask's lenses, and Shaved to the side on instinct, barely dodging the air blade that sliced through where she'd been standing and cut down the Nightmares in front of her in a spray of blood.

There was a little pang as she realized she didn't know their names.

She Shaved again, drawing a pair of revolvers as she closed the distance to attack.

The moment she raised one gun into position, something wrenched it out of her hand. She spun mid-stride, bringing the other to bear - and froze as she stared down the barrel of her own weapon.

The person holding it...probably would've been pretty, if it weren't for the large stitches that ringed her stunningly beautiful face, securing it to a much more weathered and tanned rest of her head and body. Her clothes were the same kind of style - objectively, something to distract and stun most men (and some women) but made disturbing anyway. In the clothing's case, well, bloodstains and obviously untreated injuries did not improve a crop top and shorts, even if they were made of glossy black leather. A whip was held in the hand not holding Lauren's gun.

"You've got something of mine," Lauren said, her own gun not budging an inch from where it was pointed at the creepy woman's throat. "And what's with the dominatrix getup?"

"You're one to talk, dear. What are you, some kind of street magician?"

Okay, she thought she was a fairly nonviolent person, but she was going to make this one _suffer._ Lauren smiled very widely. "What do you think?"

"I think your screams will be sublime to listen to for d-"

 _Blam._

The woman dropped, her throat a red ruin.

Lauren sighed, and scooped up her gun.

"Should've fucking shot me instead of making threats," she muttered, walking away.

 _Crack._

A burning line carved itself across her back, and she stumbled, falling to one knee.

"And you," the bitch growled in a raspy voice, "should've checked I was dead."

Oh, this was going to be a pain in the ass.


	49. Chapter 73

_"Scale Lance!"_

My twined-together tails deflect off the smiling fucker's fist in another ineffectual spray of sparks, and said fist slams into my chest, nearly knocking me off my feet and popping a couple ribs into my lung in the process. My tails push me back into the fray, and I duck underneath Smiley's haymaker and slam the trench spike in my hand into his ribs, hoping steel will work - but no dice, the damn thing bends.

I leap back with a snarl, and drop the useless weapon to the deck with a clatter. _"Multiple Scaled Spikes!"_

The sextet of tails slam into Smiley's chest, knocking him back but doing no actual damage.

 _So much for the pure offensive power of fire,_ I think, barely Shaving away from another punch in time. My legs are starting to burn - even with my regeneration dealing with the worst - and he...he doesn't even look tired.

I cough, forcing blood out of my lungs to drip through the fabric of the mask. I barely even notice my ribs snapping back into place as I watch Smiley silently, looking for an opening, any opening. His skin might be impervious, but there's no guarantee the same is true of his eyes or other orifices…

The problem, then, is hitting him, but he seems well aware of his weaknesses, arms raised in a classic defensive posture.

Still, that's my only option right now.

 _"Scale Cross! Twin Scaled Spikes!"_

My first strike, crossing diagonal slashes, slam into Smiley's arms and, just like the rest, only produce sparks for their efforts.

But they _also_ force his guard open for the briefest of moments, and two other tails lance straight for his eyes-

And he catches them, one in each hand.

Oh, crap-

I'm yanked off my feet as Smiley pulls _hard,_ and feel my tails stretch painfully as he swings me like a toy.

I hit a mast spine-first, and my legs go numb with a _crack_ before I fall to the deck. Blood patters and pools on the dark wood, dripping from my chest and head.

 _This is intolerable_ , the Dragon snarls. _Give me control, and I shall burn through his protection with ease._

 _And let you murder my friends? Not happening._

A thunderbolt of pain rips through my head, like a migraine headache trying to drill through my eyeball. I clutch at my right eye, trying not to scream.

 _Foolish child. I cannot allow you to bring us both to death._

 _And if I bring you out for every difficult fight, how am I supposed to get stronger?_ I mentally rasp, keeping half an eye on Smiley, who hasn't moved to attack yet. _I can beat him._

 _You're a foolish child…_

The pain dulls and vanishes.

 _...but I will let you try. And you should get up quickly, before he-_

My tails launch me into the air, slashing as I dodge Smiley's fist. I reorient myself in midair, feeling snapping back into place in my legs, and kick off, scanning the chaos below for him...

A slight breeze is all the warning I get before a two-handed blow slams into my back from above, sending me hurtling down to the deck. I crash into a group of skeletons, brief flares of pain hitting me as their bones shatter on my body.

Then Smiley lands on me, and I crash through the deck as his blow snaps my own bones like kindling. And then there's another, and another, and another, slamming into my torso over and over…

And then, they stop, as the familiar roar of an Impact Dial discharging fills my ears.

"You know, Boss, if you letting him beat you up so we could blindside him was the plan, you really shoulda told us," Eka says, voice fuzzy to my concussed ears.

I give the bearded Oni a wobbly grin as he helps me to my feet, halfway holding me up. "Thanks for the save."

"Any time, Boss. Got any idea how to beat this guy?"

I drag the back of my hand across my eyes, clearing blood from them, before looking around. This deck is clearly a gun deck, or was before Smiley decided to do some remodeling with my face. Cannon are scattered across the massive room, ripped from their rails, barrels of gunpowder and racks of cannonballs hurtled about willy-nilly. In the rough center, the remaining five Oni try to hold their ground against Smiley. They're not succeeding, and as I watch, Smiley dodges a blow from Pamca's kanabo before lashing out in a blow that sends the huge albino reeling back.

Wait. Dodges. Why would he...unless...

I grin beneath my mask.

"I do now."

* * *

Jack grimaced, resisting the urge to yank a knife out of his left arm. It'd just make the bleeding worse.

He really wasn't sure what the officer's role of the freak he was dealing with was, but whatever it was supposed to do, it seemed to require extra arms in place of legs and a few dozen more eyes than came standard, as well as a horrendous amount of agility and a very disconcerting ability to move silently across rigging and masts.

That, coupled with a seemingly endless supply of knives, had been enough to cut down half a dozen of his crew before Jack had intervened.

And enough to hit him before he could see the attack coming and use Iron Body.

But if he just waited for a clear shot…

 _"Hihihihihihihi…."_

At least the extremely creepy laughter was helping him get a fix on the fucker...

He spun his hammer slowly, listening intently as the laughter drifted toward his left. His bad side, thanks to the knife wound. Jack snorted, hammer continuing its slow revolutions as his fingers tensed on the trigger Lauren had welded into the hammer's haft. The new mechanisms changed the weight and balance slightly, but not nearly enough to matter.

A knife came hurtling from the mess of rigging from his left, and Jack slapped it aside with the haft, letting the weight of the hammerhead move him to face where it'd come from almost on instinct. The laughter continued, beginning to echo, carried on the sounds of battle all around him.

Come on…

Another pair of knives, hurtling down from on high, and even as he knocked them aside he saw the scuttling shape of the freak lunge from the shadow of a mast, covering the distance at a speed that nearly rivalled a Shave-

His hammer came down on the thing's body mid-step, smashing it flat.

Well, that was eas-

Pain lanced through his gut, and Jack fell to one knee, pressing one hand to his stomach and feeling blood. How-?!

Some half-conscious instinct made him lunge, and he felt a blade carve a trench along the side of his face, barely missing his throat and instead taking off a chunk of ear. He whirled, hammer lashing out, and hit nothing but air as his opponent jumped back.

The freak. But...how?!

"What the hell are you?" he coughed.

* * *

" _Hihihihihihi…."_

 _Blam-blam-blam-_

 _Crack._

Lauren dodged to the side, dropping the truncated remnants of one of her carbines, severed by an air blade from the bitch's whip.

He should've finished her when she had the chance. What she got for being unprepared, then. _Kaneki_ wouldn't have been finished off by a bullet turning his throat into chopped liver, therefore it was risky to assume any other pirate would've been any less durable.

If only she could reach her gas canisters, she could fade away into the chemical fog and attack at her leisure, but the bitch kept her on her toes with a constant barrage of air blades coming from that damn whip. _How_ she kept the thing cutting, Lauren wasn't sure, but it resulted in a unpredictable flurry of attacks where all she could do was dodge and retaliate, with bullets that only seemed to _annoy_ the bitch.

Oh, they hit and penetrated, all right, but even the frangible rounds didn't seem to actually _hinder_ her opponent all that much.

She needed nastier bullets, then, but that was a problem for if she survived this fight.

She let her body take over, moving automatically in a well-remembered routine as she fired and reloaded, all while dodging the oncoming slashes.

Her carbine wasn't doing the job, which meant her best options were to use her heavy rifle, grenades, or her wind cannon. But she couldn't reach any of them, for the exact same reason she couldn't reach her gas.

She needed a moment to breathe, an opening, anything, but _apparently_ the bitch's arm never tired. So how to make one?

 _Universe, if you're listening…_ she thought as she barely managed to dodge in between a pair of the slashes that left ragged gashes in the deck under her feet.

 _Crack._

Lauren swore as she mistimed a jump and an air blade nicked her leg, sending her sprawling to the deck. She rolled to the side instantly, and that bought her another second, but yet another air blade cut off her retreat, and for half a shameful moment she froze, breathing heavily and staring frozen at the bitch, who took her time raising the whip for another strike…

 _Blam-blam-blam-blam-blam!_

Only to stagger back as bullet wounds blossomed over her increasingly ragged clothing like macabre roses. The bitch whirled, whip snapping out to launch another air blade at Pravilno, who had _somehow_ snuck up on their fight, before she was abruptly smashed aside by a streak of silver - one that snapped back into Ostavila's hands, slowing enough for Lauren to realize it was her weighted chain.

"Nobody fucks with our armorer," Pravilno said with a grin, ignoring the cut on his cheek.

"Damn straight," Ostavila replied, chain starting to spin again as Lauren pushed herself to her feet, watching the bitch where she lay. She was still twitching - the non-existent gods damn it, what did it take to put the bitch down permanently?

Eh, fire tended to cleanse.

Lauren's hand brushed across her belt until she found the right canister, and she popped the pin, tossing it to where the brutalized body of her opponent lay. Greyish smoke obscured the site.

The second thing she pulled from her belt was a lighter.

" _Hell's Fire,"_ she said simply, tossing the flaming object into the gas, and tensing herself.

The shockwave nearly bowled her over, novice Iron Body or not, but when the flames passed...nothing but ash remained.

* * *

Lawrence Keith - far better known under his _nom de prime_ of 'Doctor Death' (such unimaginative fools in the Marines) figured everything was under control. He sat up, brushing aside with ease the rubble of what had been a storage room for some of the countless Hands he had raised, and regarded his opponent, rubbing his chin.

"Hrrm."

Grigori Vinci stood, breathing heavily, a haze of electricity and steam condensing around him. His skin was flushed and red, and veins visibly stood out on nearly every inch of exposed skin.

He was uncertain as to how the golden, glowing eyes were produced, but official word of Grigori's exploits had included enough detail to intrigue him - and to induce Keith to reach out to his few contacts in the Marines and Government who had, in a previous life, turned to him to accomplish miracles. Those had provided more information, enough for Keith to start filling in blanks.

Grigori specialized in transhumans, augmenting ordinary people and making them into monsters. His two black-eyed creations - one of whom had disposed of the Gunnery Sergeant, Carpenter, and Engineer with ease, tearing his conjoined creation apart, while the other had engaged his First Mate and likely would have been victorious by now if not for Keith's work on his skin. Those were likely his triumphs, and Keith would make certain he retrieved some secrets to their function. But Vinci had clearly been working on his entire crew, making them more than mere humans.

Hmph. That would interfere with any data gathered on the surviving specimens, but when weighed against the physiological secrets he could uncover, that was not an issue.

But he was growing distracted. The issue at hand was far more pressing.

What Grigori was utilizing seemed to be some bastardized combination of biofeedback techniques coupled with the effects of more esoteric implants, closely mimicking either the Electro techniques of the Mink Tribes, or, more likely, a variant on the more mundane species of electrical eels.

Both techniques - electrical generation and boosted physical capabilities - required a great deal of fuel, and could in all probability not be sustained for any serious length of time. They rendered Grigori vastly superior to himself in terms of physical capabilities, but only temporarily.

The proper strategy, then, was to weather the onslaught and hoard his strength for the counterattack when Grigori weakened.

Keith processed all this in the half-second it took for Grigori to close the distance between them once more, fist lashing out at him as he shouted some asinine and grandiose attack name.

Keith twisted, his carefully-altered physiology - a complex system of organic hydraulics, enhanced ganglia and muscle, and cartilaginous bones - allowing him to dodge the blow almost bonelessly, and lashed out in a deceptively gentle swing of his hand that smacked the much smaller man into _Theseus's_ decking.

Grigori landed hands-first, turning his motion into a roll with enviable agility, and came up with more blades in hand before laying into the Hands that had surrounded him at Keith's silent command. All too quickly Keith felt the destruction of dozens of the Hands reanimated by his Vita-Vita Fruit, as Grigori's weapons - some intriguing combination of wide-gauge needle, knife blade, and medical saw - carved through the skeletal army. Within moments, the deck around Grigori was littered with disconnected and shattered bones, the pirate doctor breathing heavily.

Keith chuckled.

" **And what,** " Grigori growled, " **is so damn funny?** "

"Simply this," Keith said, inclining his head to look in the inferior doctor's eyes. _"Come Forth, Lazarus."_

Keith _pushed_ life into the inert bones on the deck, all of them, across the entire length and breadth of the _Theseus._ Hundreds of old bones came back together, slotting themselves back into place despite lacking tendon and ligament to hold them together as they had in life. The specimens-to-be fell back, forming themselves into tight little clusters as the bones whipped past them. The truly intriguing cases - the black-eye and his pack, the werewolf and his hounds, the brute, and the revenant - all ignored the phenomenon in favor of focusing on their chosen opponents, but even they paused, as if sensing that this was a moment that needed every eye on it and demanded a silent audience.

Keith exhaled, and the perfectly arranged ranks of Hands snapped to attention, brandishing their weapons with perfect precision. Their numbers were slightly diminished by those who had been reduced to mere pieces of bone rather than simply bashed apart, but that wasn't much of a dent.

Beneath the layers of coats and scarves that protected his flesh from the light, Keith smiled.

The Hands attacked as one, shattering the silence with the clamor of war once again, and the slaughter began anew.

Grigori fell to one knee, panting, the aura of lightning vanishing. "Damn it," he rasped. "Is that the kind of power you hold?" His eyes bled gold, a steady pattering of ichor. Had he damaged them accidentally, or would they heal from the stresses put upon them? "Power over life and death?"

Keith inclined his head, granting a small measure of respect to his lesser. "As it should be," he said. "A captain already possesses such power over their crew...but in mine, everyone serves even past their death, and that makes me greater than any other captain, does it not?"

"It makes you a monster, to think that your right," Grigori growled. "To think you were once a physician…"

Keith laughed. "Come, now, 'Alley Doc'. We have both long since abandoned those idiotic and limiting oaths. You made your soldiers and turned your own body into a temple of the full capability of science...and I, I devoted myself to a greater path. If I am a monster...you must therefore be as well, no?"

"I...am nothing, _nothing_ , like you."

Keith sighed, giving the nearest Hands a signal to seize the exhausted man. The skeletal soldiers forced him down to his knees, holding his arms out, and Grigori did not resist. Keith turned, striding to the rail of the raised deck, looking out over the combat. The Nightmares, caught unprepared for the arrival of 'fresh' forces, were gradually being forced back, some of them being shackled and knocked unconscious, others being reduced to useless, bleeding heaps, to be converted into Hands when the battle was through.

"You know, we could work together, you and I," Keith said, almost conversationally, crossing his arms behind his back. "You have no small amount of surgical skill, and your work implies a great deal of understanding of the basic underpinnings of life. You could join my quest, to truly understand life and death so that we could make the souls of men anew. And it is so rare to have _decent_ conversation aboard this ship, much less that coming from someone capable of understanding even the least parts of my quest."

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith saw something flicker across Grigori's face. Time to sweeten the deal.

"I will even spare your most prized experiments, so long as they too bend the knee. They are, dare I say, capable work…"

"Kaneki…"

"Is that the name you decided on? It bears some similarity to dialects from the land of Wano... what does it mean?"

"It….dahaha. Dahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Keith waited patiently for the fit of hysterical laughter to pass. Future specimens often succumbed to it when faced with his brilliance, and he supposed he could forgive a fellow scientist a lapse or two.

"It...it means one thing. That you are an _idiot._ "

Ah, well. A lapse, he could tolerate. Not insults. He pulled his sickle from his coat, turning as he slammed the blade into the deck with the force of his blow.

Keith stared as he saw that the only thing pinned on the blade of his sickle was Grigori's makeshift lab coat, the sleeves still clutched by the Hands. Where had he-

 _"Vertebral Trauma."_

Above him-!

An iron-hard palm slammed into Keith's back, sending him staggering as his nervous system misfired, his body no longer obeying his commands properly.

 _"Neurotomic Cascade."_


	50. Chapter 74

The Musician - the man who had _always_ been the Musician, and any memory of the past a mere lie - peered over the edges of his organ at the huddled form of his opponent.

Disappointing, really. While he'd displayed some dodging ability, it had only taken two more blasts connecting to bring him down. Still, his Devil Fruit was somewhat intriguing, and the Captain would appreciate the fact the Musician had taken pains to leave him alive-

The man struggled onto hands and knees, coughed an alarming quantity of blood onto the deck, and collapsed face-first into it, not moving.

Oh. Well, this was a problem for the corpse beetles, then.

His fingers pressed a complex series of keys, and access panels in the base of the organ opened, releasing a chitinous tide of insects.

The corpse beetles would strip the body clean as always, and then-

The man's body vanished as the deck around him disintegrated into a cloud of splinters, taking the closest of the beetles with it.

Oh, come _on._

"You think I can quit?" a rasping voice, barely audible over the surrounding battle, asked. The Musician turned in his chair, to behold his opponent. Blood was practically painting the deck at his feet, dripping from ears and nose and mouth. One hand was clearly broken, the fingers bent in ways stock human phalanges never could. The other was barely holding on to the tonfa in its grasp. Even as the Musician watched, the horrifically battered man swayed on his feet, barely standing.

But still, incongruously, impossibly, standing. Those blasts were enough to rupture organs, and it clearly wasn't a case of the man being simply too tough for the Musician's music to work - otherwise he would not have been injured at all! What was keeping him standing?

"You think I can just fall down and die? I can't. I swore to myself I'd become someone who could stand with pride in front of him. I swore…"

The Musician ignored the man's rambling, and slammed on the keys of his organ, building a monstrous assemblage of overlapping notes in an instant. " _FORTISSISSIMO!"_

The blast of sound slammed the man to the deck, silencing him.

And he got back up.

The Musician blasted him into the deck again.

He got up again.

The Musician ground his teeth, and cracked all four sets of knuckles. The man ignored that, and his tonfa started to slowly rotate as he stared at the Musician through blood-filled eyes.

The impudence…

The Musician's hands crashed onto the keyboards, and the air began to hum as the tension built and built, vibrations overlapping one another but not yet spilling out into violence, growing stronger by the second.

 _"CRUSHER CHORD!"_ he screamed, at the same moment as the largest of the organ's pipes split down the middle with a ringing crack.

This wasn't a mere blast. This was Armageddon in a can, Judgement Day in a live performance, obliteration through pure sound. The deck between the Musician and the man disintegrated as the attack flew towards the barely-conscious fighter, for the briefest of moments seeming to take the shape of a roaring dragon-

And the man's tonfa slapped it aside without even ceasing in its rotation.

What.

 _What._

 _WHAT?!_

The man smiled, before coughing up more blood and falling to one knee. "Damn... backlash hurt like hell…" he rasped.

He was vulnerable. And even with the crack in the pipe, the Musician still could-

"Hey! I'm not allowed to make friends with you, or eat you, so I'm just going to kill you."

Who on earth-

" _Tokamak Tomb."_

The Musician's organ folded in around him like origami, and he felt searing pain-

And then nothingness.

* * *

This, Jack reflected, may not have been the best of situations to be in.

Call it a hunch.

If one inspired by a very painful gut wound and the fact that the hand-footed fucker responsible seemed able to outright phase through his attacks. There wasn't any other explanation for how Jack had seen his hammer connect, but felt nothing.

He grit his teeth, and leaned heavily on the haft of his hammer, forcing himself to stand. Blood was already soaking his shirt and pants, but he ignored it.

He didn't ignore the knife that the bastard responsible for that blood threw at him.

" _Iron Body."_

The blade glanced off his cheek, leaving a shallow, stinging line in its wake and taking a chunk of beard with it.

 _"Heeheeheeheehee…"_

And, of course, he never stopped laughing. Jack grit his teeth as the noise drilled into his eardrums, setting off a worsening headache. "Shut. UP!" he shouted, swinging his hammer with all the force his weakening muscles could muster. The deck shattered under the force of the blow, but the fucker just ignored it, and Jack had to let go of his hammer as he leaned back to avoid a knife opening his throat. Even then, the blade carved a trench along the side of his neck, and the laughing bastard dodged Jack's punch with ease, and added another cut to his arm for his troubles.

Jack's knees hit the deck again, his vision starting to blur.

"Damn it," he growled, the bastard's laughter tearing at his ears. "It wasn't supposed to -"

" _Heeheeheehee-"_

 _Blam blam blam blam!_

Despite the shots being nowhere near the creature, it still dodged to the side, the laughter finally stopping.

Blood trickled from thin air.

Wait...what.

Jack's vision blurred again, and the hand-footed freak shifted position. Not far - a meter at most - but…

"An illusion," he rasped.

He hadn't hit the bastard at all. Just thin air.

But where had those shots come from?

"Jack, you look about as bad as I feel," a feminine voice said.

"At least he's not as bad as you look," a man joked.

"You two idiots do realize we have a freak to kill, right?" another woman asked drily.

Lauren. Pravilno. Ostavila.

Jack grinned. "Oh, you're in for it now," he said to the freak, who simply drew another couple of knives and hurled them right at him.

Time seemed to slow for an instant as Jack saw incoming death -

And saw it swatted aside by the chain of Ostavila's kusari-gama.

"You two deal with _him_ ," the leather-faced woman said. "I've got Jack."

Got him? Were they supposed to fight? Before he could summon up the strength to move she was in front of him, pulling out bandages.

Oh. Right. The horrible bleeding injuries. Ow.

As Ostavila worked, Jack kept his gaze on the battle.

The freak wasn't laughing anymore - or if he was, the gunfire was drowning it out. Pravilno's revolvers barked a staccato rhythm, one hand reloading while the other fired, while Lauren worked with shotgun in one hand and carbine in the other, buckshot and large-caliber bullets cutting off lines of retreat even if the freak was too agile to be hit quite so easily. But that was changing by the second - and not only because the ongoing hail of bullets was ripping up sections of the decking. At least one of those bullets from the salvo that'd saved his bacon had hit _something_ important, and the freak was slowing, bit by bit.

All too quickly, the tipping point was reached, as the two gunslingers wove an inescapable net of lead and brass. Jack wasn't sure _who_ made the shot - but the result was the same. A gout of blood erupted from the freak's chest, and it fell to its knees, mouth hanging open.

Lauren stalked forwards, slotting more shells into her shotgun, her coat flaring behind her in the wind. Her face was carefully blank.

Maybe it was the blood loss screwing with his vision, but it suddenly occurred to Jack that, in that moment, he couldn't see a single trace of the scared girl they'd rescued on Crucix.

Lauren pointed the shotgun at the freak's head. The freak didn't even react - probably going into shock. "Stay down."

Fast as thought, the freak moved, and though Lauren's shotgun ripped the right side of its face to shreds, something in its brain retained enough function to snatch one of her canisters from her belt, and pull the pin.

The last thing Jack saw before flames consumed his vision was Pravilno diving towards Lauren.

* * *

Herman figured this was how his previous opponents had felt: smaller, weaker, but more skilled, while their opponent had more raw power but none of the training to use it.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

" _Black Jaws!"_ he shouted, launching a flurry of cuts that would have hammered down anyone's defense. The gigantic armored skeleton blocked one with the flat of his equally gigantic blade, and let the other slam into an upraised bracer. Amakatta bit slightly into the metal, and Herman tore it free with a snarl before jumping back as Furaian nearly turned him into two people.

Too bad the hounds were busy fending off the rest of those damn skeletons after they'd all decided to get back up. If he'd had a few seconds to concentrate...maybe he could summon up the focus to do whatever he'd done to long dumb and scaley back on Spice. As it was, it was taking everything he had to keep the skeletal knight's blade from turning him to a low-quality steak. The knight may've been dead, but whatever he was using instead of a brain apparently functioned well enough that he was able to keep his attacks moving in such a way that Herman didn't even have the space to go furry and take advantage of his Devil Fruit abilities.

If only the knight wasn't so silent. It felt... _off_ being the only one contributing anything to the fight.

" _White-"_

Furaian slammed into Amakatta, the half-formed air blade scattering in a hundred fragments that cut into both their armors. Herman bit back a scream of pain, the right half of his field of vision vanishing as the eyeball was obliterated by one of the pieces of ethereal shrapnel.

He screamed aloud as Furaian broke through his weakened guard, and cut through a gap in his armor, removing his left arm at the elbow.

He fell back, barely dodging another sword strike before tripping and landing on his back. Amakatta thudded to the deck as he tried to stem the bleeding.

The deck shook under him as the knight advanced. It paused, gazing down on him with burning green eyes.

"Well?" Herman asked. "Finish it, you ugly fuck!"

The knight raised his blade slowly, holding it steady at the apex of its swing. A cracked, hissing rasp came from its helm.

" _Lord's...Duty."_

The blade descended, and Herman flinched, closing his eye.

There was no pain. Or cold. Or a quick trip to the void. In fact…

He cracked open an eye slightly, and his jaw dropped. "Bugger all."

Wasn't every day you saw a pack of Vikings hold back a gigantic Graded Sword with nothing more than a shield wall and stubbornness. Maybe he'd been misjudging just how strong these guys were…

"Sir!" one of the ex-Steel Shields shouted.

Right.

Herman popped into hybrid form, adrenaline surging and the pain of his wounds almost vanishing as he snatched Amakatta from the deck with his remaining hand. He leapt into the air, over the shield wall, putting himself level with the knight's head. The world seemed to slow, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, and he swore he saw the orbs of green fire widen in surprise…

" _Shepherd Style…"_

 _Strike true._

" _Shear."_

Herman slammed into the deck, going to one knee as Amakatta dug into the deck.

The knight fell in two separate pieces, cut from shoulder to hip.

Herman let go of Amakatta's hilt with an effort of will, sitting down hard and shifting back to human as weakness suddenly surged through him. The sun suddenly seemed far too bright, and he squinted his remaining eye even as he tried to stem the bleeding from the remnants of his arm.

"Sir?"

He turned his head to look at the Steel Shields, part of him noting that the battle around them was starting to die off.

"Nice job," he grunted.

"You need a medic, sir," the largest of them pointed out. "Can you stand?"

Herman considered it. "Probably not," he allowed.

"Right! Men!"

Herman passed out before they actually managed to hoist him onto their shields, thankfully.

* * *

It's a lot easier fighting with others who can keep up on your side.

Before, I could barely break even against the smiling fucker, and even my regeneration couldn't keep pace with the damage he could do, not when I couldn't inflict any damage of my own.

With the Oni, though…

 _A pack can bring down prey even the strongest of lone hunters cannot. Remember this lesson well._

Smiley blocks the strike of Tina's spear with one hand, but has to stop his counter-strike halfway through as Percy closes the distance, instead throwing the statuesque woman at the shaven-headed brawler, throwing them both off for half a second. This, though, leaves him open.

 _"Scale Hammer!_ "

And I take advantage, my blow splintering the gun deck around him even though he manages to block the worst of it with crossed arms. I pull my tails out of grabbing distance as he steps back.

I grin under my mask as he shakes out his arms, smile still fixed on his face but eyes narrowed in annoyance.

 _We have struck well._

"So, looks like blunt attacks work on you pretty damn well," I say. "Maybe it'll even jar a different expression onto your face."

The only response I get is a wordless shriek as he throws himself right at me-

-and takes Pamca's iron club right on the chin, sending him stumbling back for the briefest second, arms windmilling out-

"Now!"

-and Dui, Eka, Pamca, and Chandos charge in, wrapping chains around those arms before Percy and Tina kick apart a pair of gunports on opposite sides of the ship and shove their multi-ton cannons - cannons that the chains are attached to - out into the ocean.

Smiley's eyes widen before his shoulders spontaneously dislocate and he's slammed into the deck.

I crack my knuckles, pushing out all six tails at once and twining them into one.

"Let's test how strong a blow you can take. _Scale Piledriver."_

The blow sends Smiley's head through the deck, the back of his skull visibly dented inwards and his neck at a disconcerting angle.

I look up at the hole in the deck above, the sounds of battle gradually beginning to taper off.

 _"Kaneki! The mast!"_

Vinci. My captain needs me.

I leap up, back into the fight.

* * *

Vinci didn't believe in souls.

Hadn't. _Hadn't_ believed in souls, because what his eyes had seen…

He wasn't ordinarily one to put stock in tales of supernatural powers and realms of existence beyond the mortal plane. Everything, _everything_ , had an explanation, even Haki and the abilities of the Devil Fruits. Even the thought of an afterlife-

 _The Marine Captain's face had been cold, like unyielding stone. But when he'd given his name, hoping to join at the young age of twelve, filled with the hope and assurance grandpa had given him, that stone had turned to ice._

 _"I remember you," he'd said. "I remember your parents, who turned away from the path of Justice. And you think I will let such tainted blood into our ranks? Your parents are burning in hell for their crimes, whelp, and if you don't get out of my sight, I'll ensure you join them."_

-heaven and hell, rewards for the just and punishment for the wicked...those were just cruel jokes. _This_ world was all he had. There was no _spiritus vitae_ , no ethereal bits and pieces, just chemical and cellular machinery complex enough to delude itself into intelligence.

But that theory had run into trouble more and more as he travelled the seas, as the King's Heart adapted to what he couldn't explain and he felt the nameless power within him increase by the day. And now, with eyes that did far more than what he'd thought them capable of - far more than simply utilizing subconscious cues and clues to paint a map of weak points - he understood just how wrong he'd been, and just what he was facing.

He'd seen the ancient monster's power, clawing and tearing at the wisps of souls, chaining them back to their bones. He'd seen it, in colorless hues and warped geometries, and it frightened him.

And after that fear came rage.

An old monster, playing God with lives and souls as he desired. _This_ was the kind of enemy that deserved killing.

 _Ba-bum._

The King's Heart thundered in his ears as the old monster writhed, his entire nervous system misfiring and building into a chain reaction that would cause his heart to explode and his brain to fry.

Vinci let the lightning fade away with a sigh of relief - even the small quantities he'd used to trigger the monster's nerves had nearly been too much, after using Monster Mode - and watched his opponent fall to hands and knees, coughing blood onto the deck and spattering it across the coats and scarves it wore.

Then he took a step back as the monster - _impossibly, inconceivably_ \- got back to his feet, turning slowly as he loomed over Vinci effortlessly.

"A commendable effort," the butcher growled. "But one doomed to failure. I am far more than some human who you can simply switch off."

"Redundant nervous system and secondary heart?" Vinci asked, cracking his knuckles and trying to project a bravado he definitely wasn't feeling.

"I do not need to give you a detailed explanation of my craft, _whelp._ You will be dead soon enough."

Vinci barely had time to reach for his saws before the monster charged forward, almost too fast to react. Only a near-reflexive use of Iron Body kept him from being eviscerated, and even then the twin scythes -sickles in his opponent's hands, but large enough to be scythes for someone of normal height - the monster was carrying left a pair of shallow cuts across his torso. He staggered back, saws deflecting another pair of strikes - delivered in absolute fucking silence, the prick - before he got his footing again and leapt forwards, past the scythe blades.

" _Incis-_ grrhk!"

He dropped one saw to scrabble at the hand holding him by the throat, the hand that _definitely should not have been_ \- oh, wait, he had four arms now, two more under the ones that were in the normal position. Because why the fuck not. Clearly stitching extra limbs to oneself was a useful application of time and medical resources. Damn things had been hidden under all the layers of coats and scarves the monster was wearing, too, but now that they were out, he could see the monster's skin for the first time. It was grey, crude stitches crisscrossing it down the entire length of the arm, and said arm had extra joints that didn't belong on anyone not of the Long-Arm tribe, the entire thing writhing with muscles connected in strange and horrifying ways.

"Surprised? The Vita-Vita Fruit allows far more...creative applications of surgical craft. Admittedly, being unable to swim does cause some diff-"

Vinci stabbed the monster in the wrist with his remaining saw, and lashed out as the creature's grip came undone, snapping the other wrist on the right side as he hit directly on the joint. He snatched the falling scythe out of the air and kicked off just in time to avoid a strike that would've probably cut him in half.

He landed on the deck, and the four-armed fucker kicked him in the face.

Luckily, the mainmast stopped his flight. Ow.

Vinci ducked, half from reflex, half from paranoia, and had the latter rewarded as the monster's scythe slammed into the mainmast inches above his head.

Fuck this. It was gonna hurt, but he needed to finish this now, before the monster managed to seriously injure him.

The pulse of the King's Heart sped up, and he felt pain lance through his chest, copper-tasting blood filling his mouth even as the world seemed to slow to a crawl. Even then, the old monster was still moving at a fair pace, but now wasn't the time to worry about that.

He grabbed ahold of the haft of the monster's scythe, swinging up on it and launching himself into the air, and he pushed out lightning into his own weapon, letting electric potential build and build as he rose, ignoring the fire burning through his veins as he taxed himself beyond his limits.

He saw the monster begin to look up, saw his hand begin to let go of his weapon so he could get away, and knew that he couldn't let that happen.

" _Kaneki! The mast!"_ he shouted, calling for his right hand - and seeing an immediate answer as a red blur rocketed towards the mast and snapped it like a twig, burying the monster in a pile of sail and rigging that even it couldn't escape from.

Vinci grinned as he fell, trailing electricity behind him, the blade of his scythe glowing gold with barely contained energy.

" _EMPIRICAL RAZOR!"_

Thunder sounded in a clear sky, and lightning blinded him.


	51. Chapter 75

**Author's Note:**

Okay, **biotech2135** , since you disabled PMs I will put this up here.

Thank you.

Seriously, you don't know how much a good review means to me, much less one like yours. I hope you'll continue to read and enjoy for a long, long time. We have a TVTropes page, if you wish to contribute something.

That's all. Now, on with the show!

* * *

There had been the sounds of battle, earlier, which was unusual- the Captain preferred raiding islands to engaging at sea. Still, it did not concern him. It was not his purpose to participate in battle, but he would have to be sure to tend to any new specimens the Captain brought.

For the moment, though, he had to tend to the specimen room. It had been quite some time since the last raid, and though several specimens awaited conversion into Hands, they had not yet been fully drained of blood, and merely hung on their hooks.

It made cleaning somewhat difficult, when the blood began to overflow the bleeding buckets, but he didn't mind.

…

The ship was really alarmingly quiet-

The door exploded inwards as a pair of red tendrils ripped into it. A man stalked through. Well, he looked like a man. The black sclerae and red irises pointed to him not being so. So too with the two undulating red tentacles protruding from his back.

This was likely a hallucination. People breaking into the specimen storage was impossible. The captain would not allow it, and as the Captain was Death and thus unable to be killed or bypassed, the man could not be real.

For a hallucination, though, he seemed remarkably detailed. He felt he could see and count every strand of close-cropped brown hair on the man's head.

The hallucination glared at him. "You another-" He stopped, and sniffed the air. The black eyes narrowed. "Hmph."

The hallucinatory tendrils were not idle. They reached up to one of the specimens, one that was less drained than the others, before coiling around it like a constrictor snake. There was a rough snapping noise as the coils contracted, a sound he recognized as shattering bone, and red blood briefly trickled over the outside of the coils. None of it touched the floor. When the tendril retreated, the specimen was gone. Ah. That was... distressing. Captain would be displeased if one of his specimens disappeared without leaving any useful data behind. Was it not a hallucination? He walked to where the specimen should have been, and prodded the air. It was gone, most definitely. Hallucinations could not do that. Which meant the person was real.

"What are you?" he asked.

The black-eyed man cocked his head, his tendrils lashing out to another specimen and repeating the process they had before. The Captain would be rather unhappy that they were all gone. "Could ask the same, kid."

"I am the Cabin Boy."

Something in the man's eyes hardened. "Right. What are you doing here?"

"I am cleaning the specimen storage."

"You realize there was a fight earlier?"

"Yes."

"Your captain and crew fought us. They lost. They're all dead."

"That is not possible. The Captain is Death. He cannot die."

The man's nose wrinkled. "Believe it or not, it happened. You going to try to avenge them?"

He thought on it a moment. The man appeared to believe what he had stated. If there was no Captain, and no Crew...this was not ideal. How could he...ah. There was still the Ship to serve.

He shook his head. "No. It is not my purpose to fight. I serve the Ship, the Crew, and the Captain. If there is no Crew or Captain, I will continue cleaning the Ship."

"You can't sail this vessel."

"Of course not. That is for the Navigator and First Mate to do."

The man's jaw tightened. "Follow me on deck, kid."

Hm. With no Crew, it was unlikely there would be a necessity for additional cleaning, as there would be no more specimens to bleed out. Therefore, his duties could wait the few minutes he would have to take in following this stranger.

He walked out onto the deck.

The Theseus was in a shambles. Most common was the shards of bone that had once been Hands, scattered all over. Battle damage was greatly present, sections of railing missing along with the entirety of the foremast. And then there were the bodies.

He supposed the large pile of metal and meat had been the Gunnery Officer, Engineer, and Carpenter. The Bosun was mostly charred remains, and there was a disconcerting puddle around the spindled and mutilated remnants of the Musician's organ. The Navigator was stretched out on the deck, the front of his body burned clean to the bone. One of the Captain's experiments with creating a more effective Hand had been cut in Twain, the sword it had carried in life nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of the First Mate, but there was a very large hole in the deck that probably explained that.

Near the stump of the foremast, laying across a scorched scar that stretched the full width of the deck, was a collection of coats and scarves.

The deck was not filled with dead alone- numerous men and women in white jackets were moving around. Several moved past him and the grim-faced stranger. Hushed whispers spread as they looked at him.

The black-eyed man brought him to where the foremast had been. There was a group here that was not solely men and women in white. A woman with a gas mask and a top hat with two playing cards tucked into the band, carrying a rifle and nursing bandages all along her left arm. A gaunt man carrying a pair of tonfas tipped with cannonballs, battered and bloody, left arm and right hand's fingers in makeshift splints. A man in a white mask wearing a black suit, both spattered with blood. A black-haired man in black armor, one eye an empty socket, wincing as the last of the party - a golden-eyed man in a white lab coat - worked over his outstretched left arm with needle and thread, clearly reattaching the limb. The last man finished with the stitches, before looking up as the Cabin Boy and the black-eyed man approached and turning on the crate he was using as a seat, letting the Cabin Boy get a good look at him.

The man's eyes were a bright gold, and he bore scars, the largest a Y-shaped one on his chest that the Cabin Boy easily recognized the purpose of (he had a similar one himself), several others marring his face, and a smattering of more recent ones across his torso, that last group looking to have been cauterized shut. A scythe - one the Captain made use of, had made use of - leaned against one shoulder.

"Found this guy cleaning. Something ain't right about him," the black-eyed man said, shoving him forward slightly.

The golden-eyed man looked at him, and nodded slowly. "I see what you mean. Are you aware of what's happened, kid?"

He nodded.

"Your captain? Dead. Tough little bastard, clever too, but he went down. The skeletons are destroyed, and his ill-conceived experiments are deceased." The golden eyes swept over him, and hardened. "Looks like he deserved it more than I already thought, too," the man said quietly.  
He looked at the small pile of scarves and coats, scorched and smoking (which should have been impossible, nobody could kill Death, unless…). Then he stepped free of the grip of the black-eyed man who had brought him on deck, and bowed slightly to the golden-eyed man. "If you would excuse me for one moment? Trembling Harmony."  
For one moment that was an eternity, he saw everything. He was everything, linked into the universe's clockwork of atoms and things even smaller than atoms, a massive crystalline chord that made past, future, and present one single note-  
The next instant, he was the Cabin Boy again, looking at the One who Is, who Was, and who Was to Come, the Unbound Physician.  
"I see," he said, bowing again, deeply this time, as was only right. "It makes sense. You want to rule Creation."  
The One chuckled. The man who had brought him- no, the Dragon growled behind him. "How the hell does that make sense?"  
"A physician battles death, but death is tireless where the physician is not, and death will eventually be victorious. But a Physician who wishes to change the reality of death- a doctor without restraint to his Will- to such a being death is but a passing thing, to be discarded at whim."  
The Dragon facepalmed, and muttered something about how he wished that hadn't actually made sense.  
"What...was that?" the One asked. "A Devil Fruit power, obviously, judging from that life belt and the fact you felt the need to speak its name, but...oh. Oh. Clever."  
"Care to explain for the rest of us, oh Mighty Physician?" the Dragon asked with a smile.  
"Applied Devil Fruit bullshit that mostly relies on a very impressive understanding of physical laws," the One said, tapping fingers against the blade of his scythe. "Will explain later. For now, kid...if you don't have another name..."  
He shook his head. "I am the Cabin Boy. I am also Specimen 6006. I do not have a name."  
"Fair enough, Six then...what will you do?"

He blinked. "I serve the Captain, the Crew, and the Ship. When the Captain and Crew do not have a need of me, I clean the Ship until they do. That is my purpose."

"And what will you do if we sink the ship with you aboard?"

"Die, in all likelihood."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"If I am still aboard, clearly you have no use for me. And I am not capable of deflecting cannonballs. So in that instance, my death, where I would serve the realm in which the Ship had existed, would be the best fulfillment of my purpose."

The One stared at him for a moment.

"Can you cook?"

Could he…

What was the correct answer?

"I have assisted the Cook in the past with her duties."

"That's better than anyone else. You're going to work for me, now," he said flatly. "Welcome to the Nightmare Pirates, Six."

Six nodded.

* * *

Jack stared at the mirror.

A person he didn't recognize stared back. A person missing a very important feature. Namely, all of his considerable quantities of hair.

Had his skull been that round before he'd grown out his hair and beard?

"And you're certain you don't have something that grows back hair?" he asked, somewhat mournfully.

"Nope!" Vinci said brightly, toying with a scalpel as he lurked in the back of the medical bay - a medical bay that was pretty much entirely filled at this point. While most of the injuries sustained by the crew in the fight had been minor - minor cuts, bruises, some fractures - enough people had gotten badly hurt to cause crowding issues. Turns out thousands of skeletons added up.

"You're lucky," Vinci said, walking up and putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Pravilno is basically one giant third-slash-fourth degree burn at this point, and I'm pretty sure Lauren's own burns are going to stick around. You just lost your hair and beard."

"Was that why she was cursing a blue streak earlier?"

"You were awake for that?"

"Think so."

"Yeah, she was a little ticked off when I told her the cosmetic damage was probably going to scar. Something about having just gotten this arm." Vinci grinned. "Think that once we put into port she's probably going to do something reckless and stupid to cover it up. Probably get drunk, then tattoo the entire thing in something that screams of poor taste."

Jack ran his hands over his bald scalp. "Great." He made a mental note to sic Ostavila on the girl if she did anything particularly dumb.

"Oh, and good news. While you were unconscious, we got a new mast, stole a whole bunch of medical texts, got a new crewmate, and also acquired a dozen Devil Fruits."

Jack froze. "What."

* * *

"What makes a knight?  
A shining blade

Or bloody battered steel?  
Let us name the Orders Four

And the truth within reveal."

C didn't like the new guy.

Mostly because the new guy wouldn't stop staring at Brother, which was really, really creepy.

Granted, the new guy was pretty much consistently creepy, and C was self-aware enough to know that meant a lot coming from him.

Seriously, though. First off, the guy walked around barefoot, wearing only a pair of knee-length shorts that were basically colorless from age. Second, there were so many scars on his back said back was one giant scar. Third, he never changed expression, at all.

Oh, and fourth…

He reeked of madness. And not the fun, Brother-like, rip-your-enemies-skull-from-their-spine-and-beat-someone-to-death-with-it kind. The inward-turned, broken kind. It clung to him like a shroud, always present.

In short, not someone he wanted watching Brother constantly.

So he watched the new guy as the new guy watched Brother play guitar and sing. He had a good spot to do it, on one of the spars of the new mast they'd taken from the huge enemy ship.

Apparently the big ship had been built off a Marine battleship, and those ships were made so that the smaller masts from that ship were the same length and width as the main mast on their ship, which had been stolen from the Marines…

Honestly C wondered why they couldn't be friends with the Marines. They seemed to make smart choices. Or at least build better things, if all the scary pirates competed to steal their stuff instead of building their own.

Anyway. Watching creepy new guy.

"The Geas Knight, unknown by name

the seeker proud and true,  
His endless quest hath rent the stars

yet known is he by few."

Wait. Creepy guy was no longer standing and staring at Brother. Where had he…

Very slowly, C turned his head, to where the new guy was standing next to him, patiently waiting. "Do you need something?" he asked, very cautiously, as he took his left hand out of his pants pocket.

The new guy stared at him. C stared back.

Then the new guy looked down, all the tension suddenly bleeding out of him. "I have a question," he half-whispered. "The Captain said it was a good thing to ask questions."

"So what is it?"

"What is his purpose?" the new guy asked, pointing down at where Brother was still playing his guitar. "There are...inconsistencies. But if I do not understand, that means I am wrong, and I want to be less wrong."

"The Peregrine, whose bell always rings

the crack of breaking day,  
It's nameless peal will drive

the ceaseless evil from the ways." 

"Why are you asking me?" C asked, genuinely confused.

"I did not want to interrupt anyone in their work. The Bosun is teaching another, the Captain is seeing to...to the wounded, the Gunner is building something, the Navigator is beating up people with swords, and he is playing. You are watching me, and so I am not interrupting if I ask you."

"Oh." C paused, and put his hand back in his pocket. "Brother...he is Brother. I don't know if he has a purpose."

"Everyone and everything has a purpose and place," the new guy stated. His expression didn't change at all.

"If he does, it is hard to find. He...does what he likes, mostly. And some things he doesn't, because he has to. Or maybe he doesn't like them because he doesn't like what that means if he did like them." C cocked his head, thinking furiously. "He keeps us safe. He's also very dramatic. He likes to show off a lot of the time. But that is still not what he is for…" He paused. "He is very good at killing things, too. But I would not say that is who he is. Hmph. I think...I think what he is, is a leader."

"The bloody knight, Belligerent,

her edge tastes skulls and lives,  
The viscera of common men

and royalty besides." 

"So the music is seeing to the morale of the crew," the new guy muttered. Then he frowned, an expression so small C almost didn't catch it. "But what about the Captain? Is his purpose not to lead?"

"The Captain is a very good fighter, and the best doctor. But...he doesn't have the Oni, and if he fights he does it alone. He decides. Brother leads the crew to where and what he decides. Yes."

"And the Bosun supplies them, the Gunner arms them, the Navigator sails for them."

"Herman also cuts things."

"Yes."

"And you hunt things?"

"Yep!" C smiled brightly.

The frown vanished, replaced by a smile - nearly as nonexistent as the frown, but still a smile- and the new guy bowed deeply. "Thank you, C."

"Glad to help, new guy."

"My name is Six."

"Okay, new guy."

"The Mendicant, the beggar knight,

roughly clad and shod,  
He lives as though he were a beast,

but fights he as a God."

* * *

"Vinci, why does that book have an ear on its cover?" I ask.

"I'm pretty sure it's made of human skin."

"Okay, better question: why do you have a book made of human skin."

Vinci grins, and closes the cover on the unholy thing, leaving it on the lab counter. "Stole it from Keith."

"And Keith is…"

"Was the captain I hit with lightning until he died. Also, remind me to burn it later, would you? I've already memorized the contents and I really don't want to keep it around any longer."

I cock my head, before leaning against the sole section of wall in the lab that isn't occupied with shelf space. Someone - either Vinci or Lauren, most likely - has put a small plaque on it. It says 'Birdy's Brooding Corner'.

Fucking hilarious, guys.

"You didn't drag me down here to discuss Mister Crimes Against Science's taste in book covers, Captain," I say bluntly. "What's eating you?"

Vinci sighs, running a hand through his hair before fixing me with a piercing stare. "Are you happy, Kaneki?"

I blink. "Captain, what exactly are you asking?"

"I'm asking if you're happy. With your position on the crew. With what you are. I made you a promise, when I met you, and.." His hand falls onto the open book. "This...creature, his methods and ethics may have been monstrous, but the knowledge he gained from it...I can put it to use. I think I have a method to stabilize a safer version of the King's Heart, and so much more. I could do more than just create a serum to sate your hunger...I could cure you entirely."

"Cure me?"

"You were human, once...you could be again." His eyes burn. "Is that what you desire?"

To be mortal? Foolish weakness, the dragon rumbles, the scent of smoke filling my nostrils for the briefest moment.

"I…"

I could be human again. I could not have to hunt, not have to deal with even the slimmest possibility of having to devour my own crewmates if - or when - I lost myself in battle or in grim need.

I could take away what made me strong enough to survive and fulfill my oaths.

I take a deep breath. Let it out.

"No," I answer. "It isn't. Not anymore. I've...well, I've grown to accept what I am. And you're still going to work on that serum, aren't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"Captain. You'll need me, all of me, for what's to come," I say softly. "Please. I've done so much already...the least I can do is turn my nature and my talents to good use. Take those away...and there's nothing I can do to make good on my word and my bond."

Vinci closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath of his own. "Very well." He opens them again, and light blazes as he jabs a finger at me. "Don't take this as me giving up! This just means I'll have to find a way to get rid of your hunger for good without getting rid of your ghoul weirdness! And that's exactly what I'm going to do, I swear on my name!"

I laugh shakily, before pulling out my pipe and lighting it. "Whatever you say, Captain. Can...we talk about something else? What we're going to do with the loot now?"

The golden glow fades from Vinci's eyes slightly as he drops into his chair. "Fine. Way to ruin a moment, jackass. Let's talk about Six. You understand why I recruited him?"

"Because you have an incurable predilection for taking in strays?"

"And here I thought you liked the hounds."

"I did, before you started mixing chemical concoctions into their chow. Kant doesn't fit in my cabin anymore, you know that?"

"Your fault for living in a broom closet."

I flip him off. "Fine, whatever. I don't really know the reason. Figured you wanted to help the kid out."

It feels a little weird to call him 'kid' - he's got a few inches on me, and is probably older, but the way he acts...yeah.

"I did. He's...broken. And Keith's little scientific journals explained how in loving detail. It's...not pretty. I think...well, you know me. I have an incurable urge to fix things."

I exhale a cloud of smoke. "That you do, Captain."

"As for the non-person end of things we took off the ship...well, we have a heading to follow thanks to the Eternal Poses the ship was carrying, it's apparently a pirate city named Bacanar. And we've got a lot of Devil Fruits. I think Keith was collecting them. I'll have to see who wants one..."

"Can we just appreciate the fact that one of the most twisted and horrific people we've fought was named Keith? Do evil people have really normal names or something?"

"Yes. Beware anyone named Kevin. And we're getting off-topic, because I found this in the lab after we finished cleaning up."

Vinci opens a drawer, and pulls out a fruit - an apple, originally - marked with the distinctive swirls and patterns of a Devil Fruit.

"Is that…"

"The Vita-Vita Fruit. It's abilities allow one to manipulate life force, similar to the Soul-Soul Fruit but more...barbaric. It can keep someone alive through the most heinous and twisted of medical experiments, chain life force to a corpse and control them...it can even keep one from dying of almost anything except a violent end. If I ate it...I wouldn't have to worry about a great deal. I could keep this entire crew alive, I could skip straight to augmenting them without having to worry about killing them in the process, I could begin to realize the very beginnings of my grand dream...but I wouldn't have myself to thank. Still, it is tempting...so tempting…"

He holds the fruit up, turning it in the light. "Such a small thing, to grant someone godlike power over life and death, don't you think?" he asks.

"Captain."

"It's...power. But…" He inhales, closing his eyes. And when he opens them again, the glow is back, flickering like fire.

"No. If I will succeed, it will be on my merits, and mine alone. Not some tainted gift from the Devil of the Sea."

The fruit burns, golden flames consuming it in an instant.

There's a moment of silence between us. Then I chuckle. "You're a real piece of work, Vinci, you know that?"

Vinci smiles thinly. "Wouldn't be myself if I wasn't, Kaneki."

"Goes for both of us, I suppose. You good?" I ask.

"I...will be fine, Kaneki. Check on Pravilno for me, will you? I've got some work to do, but when he wakes up I'll have a proposal to make to him."

I nod. "Aye, Captain. I'll leave you to your work."


	52. From the Decks of the World 1

This is the new thing I was talking about (I think I was at least, hard to keep straight what I say on what site). Lacking a cover on which to write one-panel stories on, I think I'll start putting chapters like this in every so often - let everyone see what's going on in the rest of the world, since most of the chapters have been rather Nightmare-centric.

Please let me know what you think, especially since response to this determines whether or not I keep doing these sorts of chapters.

* * *

Tenzin woke to the sound of keels hitting shoreline.

He didn't stir from his spot under the shade of the palm tree he'd chosen to nap under. But he did open his eyes, taking in the scene in front of him. A half-dozen small boats had grounded themselves next to his own little craft, and a host of entirely disreputable-looking men were disembarking, weapons in hand, while a far larger vessel floated some distance from the shoreline.

Tenzin sighed internally. This was why he'd left the Grand Line behind forty years ago - there was always _someone_ picking a fight.

Ironically, the reason he'd _stayed_ out was the reason he was back again.

He kept half an eye on the pirates, none of whom had actually noticed him - though they'd seen his ship, and seemed confused about it - and indulged in the favorite pastime of old men - remembering the past.

 _He was going to die here._

 _He'd travelled all across the Grand Line alone, fought all manner of people, pirate and Marine alike, and been hailed as the 'Orange Hurricane' for his skill and strength, and yet here, on this haunted South Blue island, it didn't matter._

 _The armor_ screamed _at him, its plating glowing with red runes as mist boiled from the gaps in it. Whether it had eaten some form of mythical Zoan - the Ghost-Ghost Fruit, maybe? - or was just flat-out cursed, he wasn't sure. Either way, it was currently beating the shit out of him. His sword -_ Shuryohasu, _a Skillful Grade blade that had served him well even in the New World - had been shattered in_ seconds _, and even Tenzin's rudimentary Haki didn't suffice to protect him from the blade, which seemed to phase in and out of existence, much like its wielder._

 _Tenzin barely blocked another blow with the stub of Shuryoshasu, the sheer force behind the blow sending him flying back into a tree. He slumped to the ground, trying to stay conscious despite the wounds all over his body._

 _The earth shook as the armor advanced, raising its blade to finish Tenzin off - only for a red-and-black blur to smack into it, the blade leaving its grasp and hurtling through the air to sink into the ground directly in front of Tenzin._

 _Tenzin didn't question it. He grabbed the legendary weapon, and ran. He only risked a single glance over his shoulder, trying to make sure he wasn't pursued._

 _He caught only a glimpse of his rescuer's face...but that had been enough for him to see the eyes. Red on black, shot through with veins as their owner snarled like a mad dog._

 _His next memory had been waking up on a farmhouse bed, well outside Murky Island's forests._

 _He'd gone to the monastery then...and for forty years, he hadn't left._

Tenzin cut off his musings as the pirates _finally_ noticed his sleeping spot, and a few of them, led by a man in a somewhat tattered captain's coat, approached him. The weapons they carried and their all-too-sharp grins made their purpose clear.

As Tenzin watched, the one in the coat began to pull a pistol from beneath it.

It was time for violence, then.

By the time the captain's fingers closed around the hilt, Tenzin was already hurtling towards him with his spade in hand. By the time the gun cleared the man's belt, the spade's crescent blade had opened his throat.

What followed was a textbook demonstration of the monastery's self-defense techniques, albeit with far more screaming and bloodshed.

After, Tenzin stood alone on the beach, watching the larger ship for any signs of life. None presented themselves.

He turned to the bodies, and began to put his spade to its other use.

A pity. He had planned to spend the rest of the day after his nap making inquiries in the islands sole small town. There had been rumors that he wished to follow...or more accurately, needed to.

His rescuer in the woods.

The pirate who defended had defended his home.

Two creatures, the same eyes...and the same abilities. He doubted they were the same person, simply because the young Yoshimura Kaneki hadn't been a berserk madman, but the same species seemed likely enough...and it was an intriguing mystery.

One that, once he had started digging, had become something that worried him.

It had to be impossible for an entire species to conceal itself from the eyes of the world…

Regardless, he would find out the truth eventually. And who knew? Maybe, one day, he would find young Kaneki again, and see whether it was the man's nature or his soul that had prevailed.

Stranger things had happened on the Grand Line, after all.

* * *

Pyotr had never known real warmth in his life.

That was what life on the Archipelago meant, really - cold, always there, worming into your bones with frigid fingers, even the hottest of bonfires not enough to banish it entirely. It meant a distant and uncaring sun, always shrouded by the smoke and smog of the mines.

That was then.

Now, though, Pyotr was sweating under a blazing sun as he worked to hoe a row in what had once been a public park.

So much had changed, in so little time.

First had been the war, obviously. Pirates and mercenaries, guards and rebels, it'd been a slaughter...and the Doge and his entire court had reaped what they'd sown in turn. After that...with one island burned to the ground and the other largely buried under the wrath of a newfound volcano, the mines buried with it, and a decent chunk of the treasury missing…

Well, most people hadn't wanted to stay on the Archipelago after that. Those who'd had the funds to do so had booked it on whatever transportation was available - quite a lot, since there was nobody to enforce the late Doge's orders on locking down the ports.

Most of the nobles and merchants were dead, whether caught up in the fighting or just straight-up murdered by the Nightmare Pirates like the Doge had been. Good riddance to both.

Between those two...the Archipelago had perhaps a third of its pre-war population around. Those who wouldn't, or, more often, couldn't leave. And who had to make the best of things.

The one saving grace was that, despite all logic, the volcano that had replaced their mining industry had not darkened the skies further and ushered in an era of eternal night and misery. Instead, the trade winds were carrying what little smoke the huge death-mountain produced away, while the sheer _heat_ given off by the thing had melted the snows and shifted the entire island's climate somewhere towards the summer end of the scale.

Finding actual agricultural implements had been a problem, but less of a problem than starving to death.

Pyotr wasn't the only one working the fields, either - most everyone who had homes in the area was working on tilling the land that now, after so many years, was actually alive again.

He didn't really care about what would come of this new state of things - what the World Government would do, who would defend the Archipelago if pirates came.

What mattered right now was surviving the rest of the year, and he'd earn that with the sweat of his brow.

* * *

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Jabra growled, reading the mission briefing - yes, reading, because he was _not_ getting blindsided by another unexpected monster again!

Also because Kumadori and Fukuro were still in traction.

Which was also why he very badly wanted to kill Spandam right now.

"You're _not_ joking," he said, putting the briefing down on Spandam's desk. The sniveling little shit actually had the audacity to look surprised. Rage boiled in Jabra's veins at the sight, and he resisted the urge to turn the desk - the overly elaborate and heavy kind a deeply insecure person bought and had dragged up to the hundredth floor _by a certain squad of black-ops agents_ \- into kindling. "Are you _trying_ to get me killed?"

Spandam opened his mouth in an almost comical expression of shock, and Jabra, to his own surprise, snarled at his supposed superior.

Maybe it had something to do with the pain from his still-healing injuries, but right now, he felt _pissed off._

"Fukuro and Kumadori are _still_ in critical condition from what Kuma did to them when he fucked off and ran, and _I'm_ still injured because of that complete _shit show_ you dumped me in on the Spice Archipelago! We. Are. Not. Fit. For. Duty."

"B-but-"

Jabra slammed both hands on the desk, and the huge thing cracked down the middle. "But _nothing._ Either get us more people or call the others off their deep-cover missions if you want someone to handle your dirty work. I'm not going to go off and handle it until everyone's recovered, and before you say anything, right now I don't give a _fuck_ about whatever pull you think you have with the brass. They want a target dead right now, they can get the Marines to do it."

He turned, walking away and ignoring Spandam's whining.

Once he healed, he had work to do.

The monsters and legends he'd always been afraid of were real.

He had to be strong enough to face them.

* * *

Despite herself, Foglio Clare missed the Nightmare Pirates.

Not really because of any emotional attachment (despite what the newspapers said. If she ever got her hands on Morgans, she'd throttle the fucker). Mostly because, for all their utter madness, they were undeniably effective fighters, and right now, she would've welcomed the reassurance a small army of monsters could bring.

It was a pity that the storm they'd run into had separated them, apparently beyond the range of the _Grandfather's_ Transponder Snail. It wasn't unheard of on the Grand Line, but it was fairly concerning that she hadn't heard from them since.

Still, no sense worrying about what she couldn't help. The town that was in front of them was a problem they'd have to solve without the assistance of nightmarish allies.

…

Probably for the best, all things considered. The Nightmares hadn't struck her as the type for patient investigation.

"Still nothing?" she asked Harrison, her navigator, who was eyeing the eerily silent town through a spyglass.

"Nothing," the burly man confirmed. "Not a speck of movement in the whole city. Boats are still in dock, too."

"Plague?"

"Really hope not. And doesn't seem like it. Even a plague city would have dead in the streets."

She nodded.

"We need the supplies," she said flatly, before turning to Newsam, who'd found himself the new first mate. The red-robe-clad ex-Marine snapped to attention (a habit neither she nor Doppel had ever managed to break him of).

"Get some lumber out of the holds and improvise oars. We'll come in back end first, ready to sail out the moment we can," she ordered.

Newsam ran to execute her orders, and Clare returned her attention to the silent city.

Whatever was going on here, she just hoped it was something they wouldn't get involved in.

* * *

Able Seaman Second Class Uplne Odsudeny was fed up with the pile of bullshit that his career had become.

Externally, what he was doing was coiling rope out on deck as the ship he was on, the Marine battleship _Serial Peacemaker,_ sailed in formation with two other battleships. That was largely due to a well-honed instinct for self-preservation, the same instinct that had seen him posted to this particular vessel.

Being trusted to keep your mouth shut had benefits.

Internally, though, he was complaining.

It was bad enough that _someone_ in the top brass had ordered this formation to head out to sea, taking away a significant force of firepower - granted, nothing really compared to the total might of the Marines, but still quite a lot - and manpower, especially when said manpower included a Rear Admiral.

But to send that force off the sea lanes of the Grand Line seemed like madness. As best as he could tell, they were staying some kind of course, but it wasn't one the Log Pose he carried agreed with, that was for sure. At least they weren't in the Calm Belt.

Not only that, but apparently nobody except the navigators and the Rear Admiral had been actually told their destination or _why_ such a huge commitment of resources was being sent to the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere. Was it a combat deployment? A demonstration of power for some diplomatic bullshit? Were they expected to cull Sea Kings or something?

But nope, apparently being told what they were supposed to do with the tonnage they'd been given they had was too secret-squirrel for any of the people who were actually _on_ the ships to know about.

To add insult to injury, the navigators had taken all the transponder snails and locked themselves in their cabins with the damn things. They couldn't just order a communications blackout, no, they had to be _assholes_ about it.

Some days, he had half a mind to-

"Land ho!"

Odsudeny glanced towards the front of the ship, peering at the distinct distant smudge of an island.

Well, that answered his question about where they were going, but why an island that wasn't connected to the Grand Line's weird magnetic field? What was so special about-

Odsudeny dropped the rope he was coiling as all three of the Marine battleships suddenly screeched to a halt, the _Serial Peacemaker_ shaking with the force and Marines being thrown off their feet. He ran to the nearest rail, one hand on his sword.

What the hell? Had they hit a reef or some-

Something _massive_ erupted out of the waters around the frontmost battleship, and Odsudeny caught a bare suggestion of black scales and enormous teeth before it vanished - and the battleship with it, gone in a single act of violence. Waves rippled out from where the ship had been, but nothing else came to the surface.

The Rear Admiral had been on that ship.

"Oh, fuck," Odsudeny said quietly.

That wasn't a Sea King. Couldn't be - they lined their ships with seastone and camouflaged them specifically to keep the Sea Kings from attacking, and this wasn't the Calm Belt! And there'd been no warning, no attempt to warn them away from territory or any of the usual demonstrations Sea Kings made...

Odsudeny froze as the water around the remaining two battleships began to froth and boil, a clear V appearing in the otherwise still waters, growing larger by the second as it circled around the ships.

 _Serial Peacemaker's_ guns fired at the water as the wake approached, to no effect.

The wake of _whatever_ was beneath them swelled and swelled, until he could see the waves it created in passing lapping most of the way up against the battleship's hulls...and then the water erupted again, and a massive column of scales followed it, stretching up and up and _up…._

Odsudeny gaped at the _thing_ that towered over the Marine vessels.

It a tower- pillar- mountain- a something of black scales and muscle with a width 5 times the _Peacemaker's_ length-

Oh.

It was a neck. A long, serpentine neck, the titanic length dotted with... _mouths_ , opening and closing, teeth the size of giants gnashing rhythmically at the air.

The head, so like a dragon's and so _not_ , festooned with a dozen eyes of a dozen sizes, the largest mounted in the center, a bright red orb larger than the turrets used at Marineford - bent slowly, oh so slowly, to peer at the battleships that seemed like insects before it.

Its jaws opened, exposing a maw of hundreds of teeth and no tongue that was festooned with the scraps of a hundred ships from a dozen eras, and the creature _roared._

The wind almost yanked Odsudeny off his feet despite his death-grip on the rail, and even as he stared at the monster he heard the screams of the Marines who hadn't been lucky enough to have something to grab onto.

The creature's eyes fixed on the _Peacemaker_ , and Odsudeny's nerve finally broke. He sprinted towards the bow of the ship.

It saved his life.

He didn't see the creature strike, but the impact of its passing as it tore the aft half of the _Peacemaker_ off with a single lunge launched him off his feet and into the air. He saw the water rushing towards him -

He woke up with a pain in his leg and sand in his hair.

Odsudeny groaned, dragging his eyelids open to find himself on a beach.

He must've blacked out when he hit the water...urgh.

The beach was deserted...and so was the sea beyond it. The sun was setting, and…

The pain in his leg spiked, and Odsudeny groaned before laying hands on his aching shin. Wasn't bleeding, but the bone was either fractured or broken. He wasn't going anywhere unless he could find something to serve as a splint, and on this beach, there wasn't even wreckage…

There was a thump behind him, and Odsudeny turned as best he could from his half-assed sitting position, to see a man in black.

The man smiled, exposing teeth that had been filed to points.

Odsudeny didn't even have time to scream.


	53. Chapter 76

Bacanar smelled...well, better than the Archipelago, and more interesting than Tortuga.

The city was a low thing, squatting on the island's edge and spreading out, grasping at the mountains that dominated the island's right half. C guessed there were farms and villages and the like beyond that city, but the city was the important bit, and not just because it was big.

No, it was important because he could smell the scent of machine oil, of forged metal, of people making things, drifting on the air. Rough and dangerous, the smell, but simple and clean at the same time.

Paradoxical.

C breathed deep, and found it good.

Or at least better than what was going on on the deck behind him.

 _Fwoosh._

"Okay, so the Copperfront TDs get set on fire," Brother muttered, pouring another bucket of seawater on the golden flames and using a tendril to shove the charred remains of a Tone Dial off the fireproof mat. On the other side of the mat, a wide variety of objects sat, completely unharmed.

The Captain shrugged, scribbling down notes. "Let's see. It burns Devil Fruits, and apparently also a voodoo doll of a Celestial Dragon, and now apparently horrible music. Clearly, it destroys evil."

"Why do we even have those?"

"The voodoo doll or the Tone Dials?"

"Yes."

"Not sure where the creepy thing came from, but I keep the TDs for interrogation."

"...riiiiiiight. Do you also have a recording of that sound teenage girls make when seeing a pop star?" Brother asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Yes, actually. If I ever figure out how to increase the volume, I'm going to see if I can explode heads with it."

"I really don't think your eyes set evil things on fire, captain. I'm pretty sure if they did, you'd combust once you looked in a mirror."

The Captain laughed. "Fair, fair. I'll have to do some digging. At least the side effects are less obvious now...hmm…"

C didn't like the look on the Captain's face. Mostly because it was the 'I'm going to do something at right angles to common sense' look that was appearing more and more frequently as the days went by.

C suddenly realized that the Captain had probably cracked mentally, and just as quickly decided it wasn't an issue. He wasn't sure anyone on this ship was actually completely sane, except possibly Jack.

Only possibly, because C was pretty sure that Jack enjoyed paperwork, and if that wasn't a symptom of a diseased mind, he didn't know what was.

When he stopped ruminating, he discovered that the Captain had somehow gotten ahold of Herman's sword.

Well, one of them. The hilariously oversized wall of metal he'd stolen from one of the skeleton-things was lashed down next to one of the lifeboats (largely because they physically could not fit the damn thing into the hold).

Either way, judging from the outraged shouting from the general position of the ship's wheel, this had not been done with Herman's consent, but the Captain manifestly didn't care. Curiosity about the science was overriding basic decency again...also if the sword was cursed, the Captain would probably be doing Herman a favor by removing the curse.

The blade burst into golden flames at the same moment Herman punted the Captain off the ship and into the water. Brother sighed, and leapt into the water after him, while Herman picked up the still-burning sword.

The golden flames turned red, and then sank into the gigantic blade before vanishing. Herman shrugged and shoved the weapon back into its sheath, before stomping back up to the ship's wheel.

Dead silence reigned.

Good.

Maybe they could get into port without causing an incident.

C returned his attention to the approaching island.

* * *

Six had expected to be brought before the Bosun sooner. He supposed that recovery from injury, coupled with the need for funerary services for the dozen of the crew who had fallen in battle, and then the preparations for actually reaching Bacanar, had taken a great deal of time - enough, at least, for Six to begin his duties as cook for the Nightmare Pirates.

He believed he had done somewhat well, as there had been no food left of what he had served to the crew, and the crew did not display the hallmarks of starvation that would have led them to disregard relative inedibility.

"Alright," the Bosun said, raising a hand to his bare chin before pausing and lowering it back to the desk. "You're actually a decent cook, so you have my thanks for that alone. But there's a few things that need to be taken care of before I actually consider you part of the crew, decent cook or not."

Six nodded, understanding the Bosun's place in the pattern easily. It was similar to the last Bosun's.

Enforce discipline. Keep order. Maintain quality of men and materiel.

A whip had not yet been used. This crew was well-ordered, each man and woman understanding their roles.

The Captain had decreed Six part of the crew, and so Six was, but the Bosun would test him to see whether standards were met, and prepare methods of correction if Six failed to meet them. Even now, he could see the bald man's eyes weighing him - not the surgical gaze of the previous Captain, or the deep, soul-burning eyes of the current one. This was assessment, yes, but with differing context. It spoke of care, but not the kind of care Six had seen the old Musician devote to his instruments, the old Bosun to his whip.

"You eating enough, kid?"

Six nodded. The Captain had been very clear after the first night that Six was to eat three meals a day, and keep himself in good condition.

"Alright. You have a Devil Fruit, what is it named and what can you do with it?"

"The Tremble-Tremble Fruit," Six said, glad to have a simple explanation to give. "It made me a Trembling Man. This allows me to vibrate parts of my body at a variety of frequencies, without harm to myself."

"What've you used it for?"

"Chiefly, completing my duties in cleaning and maintaining the ship. Occasionally…"

 _The screams, the sound of blood tap-tap-tapping and skull fracturing under his hands-_

"Occasionally I was to dispose of specimens that the previous Captain deemed less useful than the data gathered from my method of disposing of them. I have never utilized it in combat."

"Alright." The Bosun nodded, decision written in his stance. "You're not currently fit to keep up with the rest of the crew yet in a fight. Hell, even the new recruits are a good deal ahead of you. That'll change with time...so here's what I want you to do. Meet with Kaneki later, tell him he's supposed to set you up with a training plan. And once a week, I want you to meet up with Gin. You have similar Devil Fruit abilities. He can help you with practical applications, you can help him with some theoretical stuff, if I'm not mistaken."

Six nodded. The Bosun's assessment of his education was correct. He had studied in detail the mechanics of vibration.

"Right, then. A few other things to take care of." The Bosun produced a small chest, which he laid on the desk and pushed towards Six. "Consider this your pay for now. Captain contributed it. Our tailor took a knife to the throat during the fight, so we can't get you a proper outfit right now, but you should be able to find yourself some better clothes once we dock."

Six nodded.

"Go with Kaneki and C when you do."

Six suspected Kaneki would follow him anyway - the Dragon jealously protected that which was his, and Six was, as the Bosun had said, currently the weakest of the crew. But he nodded in acquiesence, and picked up the chest.

"Right, so last thing is-"

There was a knock on the door, and the Bosun paused, frowning at the disruption to his work. "Come in!"

The door opened with alacrity, Kaneki entering. "Pravilno's awake," the Dragon said.

The Bosun stood up. "Right. Six, we'll finish this conversation later."

* * *

The medical bay was, once again, stupidly crowded, but at least this time it was with officers and crewmates rather than actually wounded people.

Lauren appreciated it. They'd had enough people hurt. And Pravilno was probably the most badly injured who'd actually pulled through.

The man was covered in bandages from head to toe now, only a small slit around his eyes visible. The skin there was burned red.

She knew what was under the bandages, and how much worse it was than that little glimpse. She'd been scarred by it herself. The thought made Lauren's left arm, wrapped in its own bandages, itch intensely, and she crossed them, scratching at the white fabric as she watched the Captain guide Pravilno through some basic movement exercises, checking that none of the burns had impaired him.

"Alright, so the problem is, the incendiaries pretty much burned you down to the nerve endings in places, so your skin is fragile. Keep the bandages on and change them daily, there's a salve I'll make more of as well, otherwise it'll get infected and you're going to die slowly and painfully," the Captain rattled off. "Also, I'm pretty sure you can't feel pain anymore. No nerve endings left. So don't be an idiot and try to tank lethal blows, you won't know if they're actually hurting you."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being singled out?" Pravilno muttered. His voice, unfortunately, was completely unharmed - still the same nasal near-whine as always.

What Ostavila saw in the numbskull, Lauren had no idea.

"You're getting singled out because you have a habit of being chivalrous at the worst possible moment," said woman said dryly. "Stop trying to block attacks with your face and we'll all stop hounding you."

"I won't," Kaneki commented. "After this I'm teaching him how to do Iron Body if it kills him."

"Kills you, you mean," Jack said.

The ghoul grinned. "Nope."

"Kaneki, try not to strain someone who just woke up from a coma," Vinci said absent-mindedly as Pravilno wiggled his fingers and toes.

"Fine, Captain."

"I should probably be terrified, but honestly I'm just glad to not be dead," Pravilno said lightly.

"So, real quick, how long is he going to have to wear these?" Ostavila asked, gesturing at Prav's bandaged...everything.

"At least four months, probably longer if he strains himself. So you might want to get used to the feeling of cloth on your -"

 _WHAM._

Lauren winced as Ostavila kicked Vinci into a wall. The Captain, naturally, was completely unharmed. "What is it with this crew and kicking me into things lately?" he muttered as he dusted himself off.

"You've been more of a pain in the ass than usual lately," Jack, Kaneki, Ostavila, Pravilno, Gin, Herman, C, and an assortment of a half-dozen crewmen who'd squeezed themselves in all said simultaneously.

"I get no respect," the Captain grumbled.

"If we let your craziness run rampant, we'll all regret it," Lauren said flatly. "No offense, captain, but your ego needs deflating from time to time."

Vinic jabbed a finger at her. "That's!...actually a very good point. Continue doing that."

"Wait, we have a license to snark at him now? Pinch me, I must be dreaming," Kaneki said.

"You do that constantly anyway," Jack pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was because he couldn't actually do anything to stop me. Now I'm _encouraged_ to do it."

"So hey, do I need to get new guns or something?" Pravilno asked. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have survived the fire."

"Yeah, about that," Lauren said, picking up the rectangular wooden box she'd set down on a nearby cot when she'd come in. "Made a bit of a breakthrough with the whole 'make an automatic weapon with gunpowder that doesn't cause the thing to shit itself' gig. I'll probably go browbeat an arms manufacturer into making more, but this one's got handmade parts so…"

Pravilno took the box, and pulled off the lid.

Inside nestled the simple, boxy shape of the handgun she'd made. Externally, it appeared almost crude, but she knew the balance of every delicate part like she knew her own hand. Lining the edges of the box were the hammered-steel magazines she'd constructed, each filled with eight bullets. Smokeless powder, heavy steel-jacketed hollow points...she couldn't _wait_ to see them at work.

Pravilno lifted the weapon in one hand, and fiddled with the slide. "Works the bolt?" he asked.

Lauren nodded. "Rack it when you reload to load the first round in the magazine. Once you fire the mechanism does the work and returns the slide and bolt to firing position. Release for the magazine is behind the trigger, manual safety is above it, grip safety is also present. Eight shots to a magazine."

Pravilno nodded, and put the weapon back in its box. "What's with the script on the side?"

Lauren shrugged. "I figure this thing's the first gun that'll bring a new age of fighting to the world," she said, keeping emotion out of her voice even as part of her wanted to...well, act like the Captain. "That, and your ability to not die. It's Girishic. Means 'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it'."

Kaneki chuckled. "Think I know why he didn't die. It's because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire outside."

Lauren glared at him. She _knew_ that look - it was the one he got when he was referencing something only he understood, the pain in the ass.

"Right, well, if the giving of weaponry and cryptic speeches is all well and done with, Lauren, Ostavila, Pravilno, Kaneki, all of you, my lab. Want to go over something before we land," Vinci said.

Well, _that_ wasn't at all reassuring.

* * *

"So," Vinci said with a grin as he looked over the chosen few, plunking a case onto a lab counter. "Let's talk Devil Fruits. Who wants one?"

"Nope," Kaneki and Lauren said, even as Pravilno and Ostavila said "Definitely."

Interesting. He pointed at Kaneki. "Why?"

"I've got enough shit to deal with, Vinci," the ghoul said shortly. "We're spending, what, two weeks in Bacanar?"

"A month, more likely."

"Right. I've got...ghoul stuff to handle."

"Kaneki."

The ghoul met Vinci's eyes.

Vinci nodded. "Fair enough. Lauren?"

"One of those Fruits give me a mastery over chemicals?"

"Sadly, no, though one of them does let you produce tar."

"Pass, then. Rather let my guns do the fighting, most Devil Fruits don't stop sufficient firepower."

"Unless they're Logias," Kaneki said.

"In which case, we better buy some seastone for shrapnel rounds and bullets."

Vinci shrugged. "Also a good reason. So, that leaves the two of you. Keith was kind enough to leave me a record of the fruit's names and effects. One, I'm keeping in case we run across a certain pirate...it'll save us from having our hearts ripped out. Pravilno, I recommend you take the Cloth-Cloth Fruit," he continued, opening the wooden case and pulling out a Devil Fruit that closely resembled an orange banana.

"Ha ha, fuck you Captain," the mummified gunslinger said. He took the Fruit though.

"So, Ostavila, take your pick of the ten that're left," Vinci continued, spinning the case, filled with said ten Fruits, around to face her. "I have an itemized list of their names and general abilities if you want," he added, handing her said list. Ostavila took it, without a shred of emotion on her face, and scanned it quickly.

"The Charge-Charge Fruit," she said decisively, handing the list back.

Vinci grinned. "Good choice." He handed her the fruit, a misshapen, bright green pear.

"Obviously," she stoically replied.

"Alright, so that leaves nine," Kaneki noted. "What's the plan?"

Vinci shrugged. "Honestly, no idea. Quite frankly I don't trust most of the crew with these, not yet. And it's not like we _need_ whatever money we'd get by selling them...might in the future, though. I figure it's best to keep a hold of the remainder, and break them out as needed."

All four of them nodded.

"Right, so, I had copies of the detailed power descriptions somewhere around here…" Vinci said, rummaging through a drawer.

He was really accumulating notes and paper at an alarming rate...ah, well. The price of crafting theories without being able to test them.

Soon enough, that would change.

He had the King's Heart, and it would remain the only one...

But Wolves, Ghosts, Fae, and Serpents would join it, soon enough.

* * *

Jack glared at the little man who stood on the dock. The little bastard glared back. His clothing - pinstriped suit, fedora, and overly large coat - marked him as one of the local gangsters that ran the city. The raggedness of that clothing, and the fact that he lacked any of the jewelry that typically marked someone of rank, meant he was dealing with some low-ranking peon.

"You gotta pay to-"

Jack threw a duffel bag at him. The man caught it, staggering, and peeked inside, where Jack had shoved a ludicrous quantity of beri. After all, they were going to be here for a while, and while he wasn't stupid enough to leave the ship unguarded, buying additional 'protection' was always a smart move.

"Right. Have a nice day, sir." The little shit tipped his moth-eaten fedora at them, and booked it.

That turned out to be the smart move, as over a hundred pirates, with freedom from their vessel finally in sight, stormed down the gangplanks and into the town.

About two thirds of the crew split off behind Vinci, heading for one of the local hospitals. Herman was absurdly easy to see, as he was hauling that oversized pile of scrap he called a sword in a cart behind him...no idea what the dog-man wanted to do with that, but wasn't Jack's problem.

Kaneki, Six, C, and the Oni went off in their own little pack, vanishing into the warrens of the city.

Lauren went walking in a completely different direction, aiming generally towards the industrial part of the city.

The rest of the crew, for their part, scattered - most of them were probably heading for bars or whorehouses, not that Jack could judge.

That left him, Gin, and a half-dozen crewmen on board the _Ends._

"You sure you don't want to join them?" he asked the emaciated man.

Gin shrugged. "Not really my thing. And you're right about needing someone else to take the workload. Let's get started."

Jack nodded. "Lets. I want to have us rearmed, resupplied, and ready to go as soon as we can."

Before he headed for his office, he spared a glance at the city of Bacanar.

The poor bastards had no idea what'd just been unleashed on them.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Google 'FNV A Light Shining In Darkness' if you want an image of Pravilno's new handgun. There's a link normally, but this site hates that so...*shrug*.**


	54. Chapter 77

Lauren walked into the lobby of John Arms Company with a bag full of guns and a smile on her face. She plunked the former on the receptionist's desk, and widened the latter. "Take me to your boss. I plan to make him richer than God."

Five minutes later, she was in an extremely fancy office, facing a bald, almost skeletal man who seemed by turns intimidated by her and intrigued by the weapons she'd laid on his desk (a desk that, unless she missed her mark, had been reinforced discreetly with enough steel to render the furniture a good replacement for battleship plating).

Honestly, she was pretty surprised that had worked. She knew the man - it was difficult to _not_ recognize one of the best weapons manufacturers on the Grand Line.

John Browning. Inventor of the bolt action and the expanding rifled bullet. An innovator in weaponry...and, it was rumored, someone who'd worked with pirates to ruthlessly squash any and all competition in the early days of his company.

"I'm curious. How do these weapons function? Attempts at automatic guns have been made before," the skeletal man said, picking up one of the pistols, weighing it in his hand. "None worked properly. Too prone to fouling."

"I'm very good at chemistry," Lauren said cheerily, keeping an eye on the man's gun hand. Sure, she'd left the pistol loaded...but she'd loaded the gun with blanks. Just to see what Browning did. He tried to shoot her, it wouldn't go well. "Smokeless powder. You just need to refine the right chemicals so you have a functional explosive that won't decay into volatile compounds but'll still work as a propellant. Recipe and ammunition manufacture instructions are included with the blueprints," she said, motioning to the thick stack of papers that lay next to the assemblage of armaments. "You want to manufacture those, you can figure out who to reach out to."

Browning nodded. "I suppose so. But I remain unconvinced." He put the pistol down carefully, and trailed a hand across the receiver of the light machine gun. The heavy, drum-magazine-equipped weapon wasn't much more than a heavier variant of its sister rifle while remaining more portable than the heavy machine gun, but it was the most obviously destructive. It practically exuded menace from where it sat on its bipod.

Browning hefted the thing in one hand by the receiver, and tossed it to her. She caught it with ease.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," the old man said, before walking back around behind his desk. Lauren tensed, but all he did was pull out a large target. Judging from the thump it made as he put it on the desk, it was quite heavy.

"You may fire whenever you wish," Browning said, standing next to the target.

"Aren't you going to...move?" Lauren asked.

"I believe you have ample incentive to ensure I remain unharmed. Consider this a demonstration of its accuracy under fire. Also, I am quite a bit harder to injure than you may think, and this target is backed with enough material to ensure even high-powered rounds will not penetrate fully."

Lauren shrugged. "Not like I'm going to miss at this range." She ejected the blank-filled drum, and loaded one filled with actual rounds before levelling the weapon at the target.

The sound of gunfire filled the office for almost a solid minute. When she finally let up off the trigger, the center of the target was mostly flattened bullets that'd penetrated partially into it. The desk, the window behind it, and Browning were all completely unharmed.

Lauren leaned the machine gun against one shoulder. "Good enough?" she asked.

Browning looked at the partially obliterated target, then back at her. "I think, Miss Bertram, that we can do business. What sort of compensation were you looking for, in exchange for these designs?"

"Not money," Lauren answered, setting the machine gun back down with its brethren.

"Hardly. If you desired that, you would have gone into business for yourself, correct?"

Clever old man.

"No," she said shortly. "So I want a few things. First...I want my name on these. Press releases, advertising, whatever you do, you let the world know I made these things."

"Having your name on bounty posters isn't enough, Vodun?" The old man's eyes were flat.

"Please. Any two-bit criminal can earn a bounty," she said, meeting his gaze with her own.

"Very well. What else?"

"First batch your people make, and ammunition accompanying it, you deliver it to my crew and my ship. And no 'unexpected manufacturing defects' either. Functioning weapons. I might be eager to see my guns at work, but I'd prefer it be in the hands of people who aren't planning to kill us."

"Acceptable. It might take some time to deliver on that...how long are you planning on remaining in port?"

"Long as it takes. And the last thing…"

She pulled another blueprint, rolled up into a tube, from under her coat. "One design, I want you to produce a limited run of. It's less fiddly than these, should be pretty easy. One hundred guns, and as much ammunition as you possibly can without seriously screwing up your other commitments."

Browning took the blueprint, unrolling it and examining it closely.

"I seriously doubt most people could make use of this," he said, rolling it back up.

Lauren grinned. "My crew is not composed of 'most people'."

"Well, either way, I believe we can comfortably accommodate your requests in exchange for these blueprints. But, I have to ask…why come to us at all? If you needed these made, approaching a factory directly would serve your purposes, and you could retain the edge in armament for your own people. Why give away such advanced weapons for so little?"

Lauren smiled at him. "It's easy. I'm a weakling."

"You just fired a fully automatic weapon for an extended period of time. I seriously doubt that."

Lauren glared at him. "Yeah, tell that to the people in the New World. I'm smart enough to know that I'll probably never be that kind of strong. I won't make the kind of name for myself that they can, not if I kept my guns to myself and my crew. My designs would die with me, and nobody would really know what I was capable of. But if you and your company produces them, with my name on the designs...every bullet fired, every life ended with them, it's something I did. I want people to know and fear the weapons I built, across the entire world. And your people are how I'm going to pull that off."

Browning was silent for a moment. Then he opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "I think, then, that that dream is something I can drink to, Miss Bertram." He poured out two fingers worth of alcohol into each glass, offering one to her.

Lauren took it, but waited until Browning had taken the first sip before throwing back the drink. It burned on the way down.

"Please, Browning. Call me Lauren."

* * *

Six was hopelessly confused.

And also, he was suspecting, lost.

The crew had, of course, declared he required new clothing. This was in and of itself odd - he _had_ clothing. His shorts had served perfectly well for the past two years, alongside his vest (weather depending) and straw sandals (for the rare need of formal occasions such as the late Captain meeting with someone else who was explicitly not a specimen). But, apparently, not only did this crew consider it normal to rotate between sets of clothing, but there was an entire industry dedicated to the practice. People whose sole purpose was to provide clothing in exchange for fancier, embossed scraps of cloth, who filled large spaces in their quarters with clothing of a bewildering variety of hues.

The Dragon's coterie had taken to equipping Six with new clothing with a quite frankly terrifying enthusiasm. But, after a brief failed experiment with a traditional chef's coat - _nowrongconfiningtoowhite_ \- they had retreated, and the Dragon had taken up the role instead, sending off the coterie with the Hunter to purchase yet more clothing for themselves.

It had been. Not terrible.

The Dragon considered Six _his_ , and treated Six with careful delicacy. As far as Six could understand, this was due to caution - Six knew he was not fragile, but the Dragon was loath to risk damaging any part of his hoard, whether through careless might or unkind words.

Careful queries and cautious examination of many places of varying quality had led to Six acquiring numerous pieces of clothing. Some were cargo shorts roughly akin to those the Dragon favored - Six found the quantity of pockets useful, and they were not overly restricting. Shirts were too close, too confining, and the same was true of most sets of shoes. Pocketed vests in a variety of materials and colors more than sufficed in place of the former, and wooden geta for the latter. What he was wearing now, though, Six preferred more than the vests. It was a brilliant white, soft, slightly stretchy garment the Dragon had called a hoodie. It had a zipper in the front, and Six wore it open, keeping the thing from being too claustrophobic. What he preferred most, though, was the symbol that the Dragon had paid to have stitched on the back, after Six had quietly asked - the Nightmare flag, proud and emblazoned on his back for all to see.

Somehow, that symbol turned the weight of the garment from something oppressive and to be avoided into a comfort. As if the Captain had draped his coat across Six's shoulders.

Six desperately needed that comfort at the moment, because he had, somehow, lost the Dragon in the midst of a crowded 'market street', as the others had called it. He was not precisely sure how that had happened, but happened it had.

He was uncertain as to the best course of action. The environment was not helping. Too many colors, too much noise, strange scents and people clustering _far too close_ -

"Hey. You okay? Looked behind me and you were gone."

Oh, thank the Unbound Physician, the Dragon was back. The colors that'd been dimming at the edges of Six's vision restored themselves as the ghoul put a hand on his shoulder, assessing him carefully before guiding him through the crowd. The people parted in front of the Dragon, several casting nervous looks his way.

Six let himself be shoved into a sitting position, felt the rough wood of a bench under his legs.

"Hey. Hey, look at me."

Six looked. The same assessing expression was on the Dragon's face, somewhat changed by his eyes having shifted to black and red rather than their default white and blue. "You going to be alright?"

Six assessed.

"I think I don't like land," he said.

The Dragon snorted. "Kyakahahahaha...okay, that's fair, Six. You don't have to." He sat down next to Six, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, the jade magatama on his necklace dangling out in the open. Six counted them. Nineteen.

They were resting now. He was uncertain why, but sought to improve his understanding through silence and observation.

People passed by. Those who looked too long were glared at by the Dragon, and rapidly decided that no hoard was worth risking the rage of such a guardian. The sun moved on its axis a non-trivial amount. Six observed.

Even sitting, the Dragon never truly ceased in movement. Fingers tapped rhythms against knuckles, toes against cobblestones. His eyes flicked from one part of the crowd to the next. Muscles balanced against one another, ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. As with all movement, this produced a considerable quantity of heat, enough for Six to notice the difference now that they were no longer amongst a close-pressing crowd. It was. Not awful.

The Dragon's clothing was as paradoxical as his nature. On the one hand, he wore a close-fitting dark grey t-shirt, and khaki cargo shorts. His hair was cropped close, an unremarkable dark brown. Utilitarian, simple, plain. On the other, jade magatama adorned his neck alongside a flexible mask of scales and teeth, and an ornately carved wooden pipe hung from his belt alongside a tobacco pouch.

Six debated utilizing his Devil Fruit to determine more, and decided against it. He was tired, and everyone on the crew would in all likelihood be displeased if he strained himself without explicit orders.

He turned his attention to observing those who passed by.

Some were pirates. This was easy to comprehend. For one, they were all armed. For another, people tended to avoid them. Of those pirates, some wore Nightmare colors, and Six would swear he saw the Gunner, a bottle of alcohol in hand, supporting and/or being supported by a bald man in a severe suit, also carrying a mostly-empty bottle.

Others were civilians. They were the bulk. They came in strange and bewildering colors, like a flock of avian creatures Six had read of in one of the late Captain's bestiaries. They moved with ease through the crowds, were the crowds.

Six blinked, and registered that at some point he had laid his head against the Dragon's shoulder. The sun had again moved a non-trivial amount, and now shadows were beginning to cast themselves across the market.

"Huh, so you're awake?" the Dragon asked.

Six had fallen asleep.

He must have been more strained than he had anticipated.

"Ready to get moving?" the Dragon asked.

Not wanting to disappoint the one who had tolerated his lapse, Six nodded.

Six noted the movement that followed them from the shadows as they began to walk. He looked to the Dragon, who nodded almost invisibly, before continuing onward.

Ah.

If someone wished to follow them, the Dragon did not care. Those who challenged him or threatened to take from his hoard would be broken and devoured.

Six added the insight to his mental collection.

He would understand the deeper natures of every member of his new crew, in time.

* * *

Honestly, Herman had expected to attract more attention while hauling a multi-meter-long sword along in a wagon. Maybe it was paranoia to be expected to be mugged repeatedly over a sword.

Okay, yes, he'd had one group of muggers, but they had run away after he had hit the leader. With the wagon.

But he'd expected more than one.

No, he was not disappointed that he didn't get into a proper fight.

He checked the street sign, then looked at the building that loomed over him.

VULKAN BLACKSMITHING, the sign cheerily proclaimed in several different colors and letters taller than Herman himself.

Okay, yes, this was the place. Looked like a warehouse from the outside, minus a wall, and in the lengthening shadows he couldn't quite make out the interior beyond a sullen orange glow from the forge, somewhere on the far wall.

Well, time to do what he came to do. He stepped into the three-walled building, dragging the wagon carrying Furaian behind him. "Hello?" he called out, before wincing as the words echoed around the forge.

As if he'd woken something up, a series of torches began to flare to life above him, each one casting light on the massive support beam that held it (and not illuminating much else…). Then, massive braziers hanging from the ceiling flared to life, and Herman squinted at the sudden brightness.

"You know, this is really overdramatic," he commented.

"Oh, give an old man some comforts," said a raspy voice from one of the few shadows remaining. A withered old man, wearing a long green robe and adorned with one of the most impressively long white beards Herman had ever seen, stepped out of the patch of darkness. "I'm Vulkan Hephaestos. This is my shop. Now, what brings you here...and with a cursed blade, no less?"

Herman cocked his head. "You can tell."

"Of course I can! Damnable thing...that's Grit Sandor's old manslasher, if I'm not mistaken. You know what it does to people, boy? Course you don't, you wouldn't be carrying it around if you did."

"Let me guess," Herman said. "Pushes you towards violence and a violent end, with the additional benefit of voices in your head."

"...yes. And if you aren't strong-willed enough, it eats your soul, and leaves a walking corpse carrying it right until that body gives out and some other damned fool picks it up. How long have you had it?"

"A couple months, now," Herman answered.

"Feh, you look healthy enough. And Sandor managed to tame the damn thing, what's to say you can't?"

Amakatta seemed to shift on Herman's back, and Herman narrowed his eyes at the blacksmith. "You know how."

"Oh, right, it's simple, like a lot of curses. Keep it at bay and teach it to heed you, or convince it to work with you. But you've already figured a bit of that out, I'd wager."

Herman thought of the simple act of cutting, and nodded fractionally.

"Good, then I don't have to worry about your death on my conscience." The old man grinned, displaying mismatched and decaying teeth. "So, what's with the compensation blade in the wagon?"

"Furaian."

"Yeah, I know the idiot thing. If I ever get my hands on the so-called smith who forged it, I'll use him for tempering the kitchen knife orders."

Herman tried not to boggle. "You're...talking about a Named Blade."

"Named Blade? Useless Blade, more like! The metal's good, sure, but the damnable thing lacks the soul to cut. It's a blade built to defend, and a defensive blade is something that kills its wielders."

Herman glanced at the blade, then back at the ancient smith.

"So you don't give a shit about what I want you to do with it."

"If you ask me to make it into another shitty blade I will rip that low-quality tin you call armor off and beat the stupid out of you with it, but otherwise you can ask me to do just about anything."

Herman bristled. "This armor's saved my life, old man."

"Still shit armor. Hell, melt down Furwhatsit over there and make it into a new suit. I'd even do it for free if you lent a hand around here for a bit. Could use some help ever since my son got it into his fool head to be a pirate."

"What happened to him?"

"He ticked off some South Blue hotshot and now he's in the hospital here, and I've got nobody to work the bellows. What'd you say, pup? A new suit of armor that isn't shit, and something gets done with that heap of metal masquerading as a sword, _and_ I get something out of it too."

Herman glanced at Furaian, thinking on the dozen or so blacksmiths he'd visited beforehand.

Six had practically chased him out of the shop for even suggesting the useless hunk of metal be reforged into something someone of normal stature could hope to use. Two more had actually come at him with hammers, and three others had started throwing things. All of those had interspersed violence with dire threats and curses and things like 'how dare you call yourself a swordsman'. One had simply turned an alarming shade of purple and dropped on the spot, dead or unconscious, Herman didn't care.

All of them, more concerned with names and histories than use. As if reputation was more important than the art of cutting down your enemy.

Herman looked back at the old blacksmith, and bared his teeth in a grin. "That, old man, sounds like a wonderful idea. Where do I start?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Again, links don't work, so here's what Lauren's new guns basically are:

pistol: M1911

light machine gun: RPK

the 'sister rifle': AKM

heavy machine gun: M2 Browning


	55. Chapter 78

Gold Roger Memorial Hospital (which, Vinci suspected, was deliberately named as such to annoy the Marines, because this was at its heart a pirate city after all) was quite frankly full of surprises.

First was due entirely to Vinci's low expectations and pessimistic streak - the hospital was not, in fact, a half-wrecked hovel, and appeared to be actually cleaner than some of the Blues hospitals he'd visited.

Second was the lack of security, which seemed...imprudent, in a pirate city. Honestly, if he and the crew had been hostile, they'd...oh. Right, this was the only hospital in town, and he would bet real doubloons to false that the local skullcrackers and whatever pirate crews were based here had a standing agreement to _bury_ anyone who caused trouble for it.

Third, and arguably most important, was the presence of Trafalgar Law, glaring daggers at and arguing heatedly with a nurse, who was giving as good as she verbally got.

Vinci was suddenly absurdly grateful he'd prepared contingencies for encountering any of the 'Supernovas'. Granted, most of those contingencies were 'throw Kaneki at them and hope for the best', but they were still contingencies.

"I don't care how bad your backlog is, I need your equipment _now_."

"And like I've said before, unless you can do something to clear out our trauma cases, we _can't_ treat your friend."

Law snarled, and let his overlong sword drop from his shoulder and into his hands.

Vinci decided to intervene before the uncharacteristically impetuous man did something he'd regret.

"If I may?" he said, cutting off both of the arguers.

"Step back, Alley Doc, this doesn't concern you," Law growled.

"It sounds like you need medical assistance. Now, what medical mystery the user of the Op-Op Fruit might be unable to solve, I'm not sure, but if it's something a surgeon can solve, I'll be more than willing to lend a hand."

Law glared at him, but the nodachi returned to his shoulder. Vinci let out an internal sigh of relief. "A member of my crew got hit with seastone rounds. My Devil Fruit is having trouble affecting the injury, and our ship doesn't yet have the kind of equipment needed to let me get a look at him properly to remove the shrapnel by hand. Came here, but _apparently_ they're so swamped with cases from some asshole who crippled almost two dozen pirate crews by himself that their equipment isn't available."

"Why not just clear the backlog yourself?" Vinci asked. "Your Fruit is admirably suited to the task."

"If I do that, I'll be too exhausted to operate on my crewmate. And before you ask, she-" - Law jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the nurse - "-said that all their surgeons and doctors are down with exhaustion."

"Well, then that's easy enough. Clear the backlog, Surgeon of Death. I'll save your crewmate."

Law's eyes narrowed. "And what's in it for you?"

"I'm a _doctor_ , Trafalgar Law. I might do more harm than a doctor should, strictly speaking, but I can't ignore an injured man." Vinci shrugged. "That, and I was hoping to rent out a large number of rooms for my men to recover in after I do some work on them, and this hospital being fully booked doesn't help that."

Law relaxed fractionally. "Fine. But if you hurt him…"

"I'd violate my own personal code, in addition to pissing off a man who can literally hold my heart in his hands. I'm a pirate, not an idiot." Vinci cracked his knuckles, then gestured to the crowd of Nightmares behind him. "Alright, you lot, take five. I've got work to do."

* * *

Trafalgar D. Water Law desperately needed some coffee.

Unfortunately, he was still busy.

" _Room,"_ he intoned, willing yet another of his Fruit's blue spheres of influence into existence. " _Scan,"_ he added, restraining the urge to wince as the complete details of every person in his room snapped into his brain. It wasn't even the amount of information anymore - he'd long since grown used to that.

It was the injuries.

Each and every one of the pirates had been taken to the brink of death, and left there. And while the rank and file of the crews 'merely' had been badly wounded - cuts, gunshot wounds, broken bones, the usual - the captains he'd seen…

He recognized the names from the bounty posters, and when that didn't provide enough, Scan definitely did.

A strategist had been left paralyzed from the eyes down, unable to command.

A builder had had his fingers systematically broken, the bones reduced to powder.

A preacher had had his vocal cords severed.

A regenerator had been left with barbed metal threaded through his skin, producing endless injuries that would never heal.

On and on and on, the pattern was the same - deliberately crippling the one thing each captain could claim to do best.

Twisted. Almost like something Doflamingo would do.

And the monster of a pirate captain who'd done it all had nearly ensured that Bepo had died, which made it so much worse. Was that selfish? Law didn't particularly care. He'd already cleared out the cases that needed X-rays, just to make sure Bepo got taken care of as fast as possible.

Alley Doc was taking care of things. Law didn't exactly trust what was clearly a mad scientist, but he didn't have any real options.

If only he'd taken out that Marine before he'd fired…

Law blinked, and realized that he'd finished fixing the injuries of everyone in the room. He dismissed the technique, and left the slumbering patients behind. The hospital hallway was almost eerily silent, save for his footsteps...and a second set, approaching him from behind. He tensed, nearly drawing Kikoku on reflex, before forcing himself to relax. He - probably - wasn't going to be attacked here. He turned to face the approaching person - a pirate wearing the white fur-edged jacket the Nightmare rank and file favored.

"What?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his stress from bleeding into his tone.

"Captain's finished up surgery on your furry friend. You know the room?"

In answer, Law threw down another Room and Shambles'd his way directly in front of Bepo's hospital room via swapping out with a ficus.

Grigori Vinci walked out with a smile on his face.

"Well?" Law asked.

"Your Mink friend's going to be fine. Close thing, though. Shrapnel was wedged in some very nasty places, if any of it had come loose...yeah." The pirate doctor held up a plastic bag that contained a few bloody fragments of seastone. "Why'd they shoot a Mink with a seastone bullet, is my question."

Law suppressed a surge of exhaustion before he answered. "They thought he was a Zoan user."

"Huh. Easy enough mistake to make, I guess. Either way, he'll wake up tomorrow morning, probably sore and I recommend he not do anything strenuous for the next week, but he's fine."

Law nodded, locking his knees in place as they threatened to fold up under him.

Vinci's smile vanished. "Hey, Surgeon. You okay?"

"Fine," Law gritted out, trying desperately not to show any weakness in front of the man who'd butchered entire cities.

"Bullshit." The golden eyes swept over him, triskelions rotating slowly. "Get some sleep, Surgeon. I want you rested tomorrow. I have a proposal for you, and I'll need you actually cognizant for it."

"Don't take orders from you," Law muttered.

"Then take some advice from a fellow doctor." Vinci gestured to the open door to Bepo's room. "I stuck a cot in there if you don't want to leave him."

"Still have work to do," Law said.

"The other crews? I'll take care of it. Not my first all-nighter, and my work can wait for a couple days. Go. Rest."

Something in the other captain's tone brooked no argument, and so despite himself Law walked into Bepo's hospital room. The bear Mink was sleeping peacefully, bandages crisscrossing his chest, and just as promised, a cot had been set up on the other side of the room.

Penguin and Shachi could handle things back on the _Polar Tang_ , Law decided. He wanted to be here when his friend woke up.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Honestly, it was pretty easy to catch up with C and the others, now that the streets were relatively clear. First, because all I had to do was follow the scent, and that was a lot easier with fewer people around. Second, because Six seemed less freaked-out, for the same general reason, and therefore we could go faster.

Should've figured someone who had spent the bulk of his life a virtual slave under someone who could give Celestial Dragons a master class in twisted wouldn't be comfortable around strangers. The shroud of fear that clung around him only seemed to really abate when he was close to another Nightmare.

The person trailing us didn't give up, either. They smelled like hair gel and dirt, but I couldn't tell anything else, even with the few glances I'd gotten - they were very good at sticking to the shadows. At the very least I'd managed to put Six on the side _further_ away from whoever it was, even if he didn't seem willing to walk in front of me. If Stalker Asshole decided to try something, I'd stop him before anyone got hurt. And if he wanted to follow me...well, dark alleys tended to swallow people up.

 _That which means us harm, dies. This is the first, and most simple law of all living things._

Shut up, scaley.

 _Your objection does not negate the truth, only demonstrates your unwillingness to accept it._

I mentally flip the dragon off, and keep walking, following C's trail. The Oni are harder to track amongst a crowd, barely having traces of oddities, but C is another thing entirely - nobody else has the same... _weirdness_ to their scent.

Probably C-cells.

Either way, with a clear trail, it wasn't long before we managed to find the tailor's shop C and the Oni were frequenting, a little hole-in-the-wall called Hawke & Alfredo's. It was a dusty place, with racks of suits lining the walls and a single set of mirrors at the far end. C's there, being measured by one of the most incredibly old-looking people I've ever seen, while the rest of the Oni are being gawked at by a younger man who bears a _startling_ resemblance to Al Pacino.

Eka looks up as I walk in. "Got lost, boss?" he asks.

"Hardly," I said, keeping one eye on Six as he looks around the shop with wide eyes. "Just keeping an eye on our newest crew member."

The Oni nods. "Sure thing, boss." His fingers flicker through the motions of the thief's cant. _Followed?_

I nod.

 _Threat?_

I shake my head.

"Right, so C's been complaining about how he goes through suits...not that'd be a problem if he learned how to dodge, but whatever."

"I keep having to fight very rude people," C remarks, not moving from where the old guy's continuing his measurements. "They don't seem to appreciate good clothing."

"They're pirates, C, they weren't supposed to be polite or fashionable," I say. I glance at the Pacino lookalike, who has become literally starry-eyed and appears to be vibrating in place. "You need something?"

A high-pitched noise comes from the young man, and the vibrating intensifies.

"Um…"

"He's been doing that for a while," Pamca notes, the massively built albino filling most of a bench. "He asked if we were pirates and what crew we were from, and after we told him...yeah."

I scratch at the back of my head. "Okay...yeah, not even gonna touch that. You guys all get what you wanted?"

"Yes," comes the chorus from the six Oni.

Chandos holds up a hand, mustache bristling.

"What?"

"Picked this up since I figured you were too busy...minding...the new guy," the shorter man says, tossing me a roughly cylindrical package, wrapped in brown paper.

I unwrap it, to reveal the gleaming metal of a new trench knife, and grin. "Thanks, mate."

"Not like you really need it, but sure."

"Course I do. What if I need to stab someone without leaving distinguishing wounds?"

"..."

"And now I'm reminded why you're the scariest motherfucker on the ship," Tina remarks into the sudden silence.

"Hey, I resemble that remark!"

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn. Six looks worried, glancing at the door.

"They're he-"

The shop's door crashes back on its hinges, and the sound of a gunshot rings out. On reflex, my hand snaps out, covering Six, and a brief spike of pain stabs into my palm. I ignore it as the Oni draw their weapons and three men - two tall, brawny, and carrying pistols, the last a near-midget, all three in cheap and shitty pinstripe suits and ill-fitting coats - all walk in like they own the place.

I move to put Six behind me.

The midget laughs. "Oh, Hawke. Not only do you fall behind on protection payments, but now you're shuttling escaped merchandise? And working with pirates to do it?" His eyes fall on Six, and the man freezes.

Merchandise...fuck, the whip scars. They must've thought him a slave.

"Step aside, pirate. This doesn't concern you," the midget says.

I repress the urge to let my eyes shift. "He's part of my crew. He isn't yours to take."

"The scars mark him as a slave, which does make him ours. Come on - do you really think you can take on the whole syndicate? Be reasonable."

There's only silence, from all of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the old man and the starry-eyed kid duck behind a counter.

"Ah, well. Goyle, Crabbe, take him."

The two brutes step forward, and immediately stop.

Not of their own volition, but because one's impaled through the heart on Charny Dui's rapier and the other's head is a meat slurry on the ground, courtesy of Pamca's iron club. The midget, paling, only manages a single step back before I'm on him and his neck _snaps_ like a dry reed under my hand. I drop the pile of meat to the floor, and push out a single tendril, turning back to the counter as the appendage does the work of cleaning up the mess.

"They're dead, you can come out."

Both the tailors poke their heads out over the counter.

"Well," the old man says dryly. "Things just became complicated, didn't they." He locks eyes with me. "Young man, I don't suppose your crew has any particular need of a tailor?"

"As it so happens, we do," I say. "Won't be suits…"

"Bah. I only sell the damn things because of the syndicate, and I have a feeling they will not be frequenting my business in the future."

"Welcome to the Nightmare Pirates, don't do anything stupid, we'll take you to the Bosun for swearing-in, blah blah blah, try not to die," I say quickly, retracting the tendril as it vaccuums up the last of the detritus.

"My thanks."

"We're gonna be _pirates,_ " the Pacino lookalike whispers, the first intelligible words I've heard out of him.

""Boss?" Eka says warningly, and I turn, before pausing as I see Pamca staring off into space, breathing heavily.

Shit, what now?

"Pamca?"

The albino near-giant doesn't react, but his knuckles are going white on the grip of his iron club.

 _Ah, shock. Well, he is near enough that this should work..._

"Pamca, **fucking answer me,** " I growl, voice dropping into a two-toned snarl. The Oni starts, and blinks rapidly, before lowering the weapon.

"There's slaves here, Boss," the albino says shakily.

"There's plenty of scum willing to barter humans like cordwood, Pamca."

"Yeah, but…" The Oni stops, and rolls up one of the long sleeves of his outfit, revealing scars wrapping around his wrist. Deep, overlapping ones, the kind that only result from at least a decade of wearing manacles that pulled tight enough to bleed.

"Oh," I say softly. "How long?"

"Twelve years. Old captain broke me out, and I became part of the Eyetooth Pirates," the albino says. "Then the Marines hung him for that, and you and the Captain broke me out again." He looks at me, and his irises burn crimson. "Please. We should find them. Make them pay."

"We're not going to do that," I say flatly.

Pamca nearly snarls, but I cut him off with an upraised hand and a baring of teeth.

"I've got a better plan."

I look to Dui, cleaning the blood off his rapier. "You, take these two to the _Ends_ , along with whatever they need. Everyone else, with me."

Six's wary eyes behind me, Pamca's rage and fear, is all the incentive I need to do this. My grin widens, baring yet more teeth.

"We're going to put an end to this."

* * *

Jack stood on the bow of the _Ends_ , enjoying a cup of tea as night fell.

Gin was quickly proving a capable hand at paperwork, surprisingly enough. With his help, pretty much everything had already been taken care of. The _Ends_ was going to get supplied tomorrow morning, and they'd keep getting what they needed so long as they were in port. A couple payments to a fishman-based company ensured they'd get careened without the need to beach the ship, and several orders had already been placed for a variety of things everyone had put in requests for. A few of the crew had staggered in drunk and passed out in their bunks (or, more often, on the deck), and several more had been picked up by those who Jack had ordered to stay sober and keep an eye on their crewmates. None of the officers had shown up, but Jack wasn't particularly worried. They could all take care of themselves, with the possible exception of Six, and that guy had Kaneki and his personal murder-entourage keeping an eye on him.

Jack set his cup of tea down on the bow rail with a contented sigh. Yes, everything was going smoothly -

There was a very large boom, and a large section of town suddenly exploded into a column of fire.

Jack looked at the blaze.

He decided it was most certainly not his problem.

"Yes. This is fine," he said, sipping at his tea.


	56. Chapter 79

Law looked around the hospital cafeteria.

The _crowded_ hospital cafeteria.

Not with nurses and doctors, or patients, no, because that would have made sense. Instead, most of the seats in the cafeteria were occupied by the Nightmare Pirates.

Law decided he was not going to investigate this situation without coffee, and he walked over to the buffet.

There was still coffee, but the only actual food left was bread. Every other plate and dish had been picked clean.

Law slowly turned to glare at the assembled Nightmares.

The Nightmares, completely unfairly, failed to drop dead.

Law poured himself a mug of coffee, and looked around for a free chair.

The only one was directly across from Alley Doc, who was going though an entire ham, half a loaf of bread, and a bowl of scrambled eggs with alarming speed. Judging by the numerous plates scattered around his position, this was an afterthought to his actual breakfast.

It made sense. Law had gotten a glimpse of Alley Doc-ya's innards yesterday when the pirate had wandered into one of his Rooms. 'Strange' didn't even begin to describe the man's physiology, but Law knew that whatever the man was, his body had high fuel requirements.

Seeing absolutely no other choice, Law sat down across from the rival captain, putting his creepiest smile on his face.

Alley Doc slid the bowl of scrambled eggs his way. Law ignored it.

"You finished up on the other captains?" he asked.

Alley Doc nodded, swallowing the remnants of the bread. "Gotta wonder who pulled a stunt like that. One of them's a Logia, too, and he still got folded, spindled, and mutilated."

Law controlled his expression with an effort. "How on earth did that happen?"

"No clue. Asked around, apparently he's a _Sun Logia._ Had a seastone cuff clamped on his wrist, though, so maybe that was how?"

"I did my own checking," Law said quietly. "Figured out who it was."

"Oh?"

"Eustass Kid."

The silence in the room was total and complete. Outside, thunder rumbled, some brief storm sweeping over the island.

Law sweatdropped.

Maybe that had been a mistake.

"Huh," Alley Doc said neutrally.

The tension in the room abruptly deflated, and the sixty-odd pirates went back to their breakfasts.

"I figured you'd be more ticked off," Law said carefully.

"And how'd you find out Kid and I have issues?" Vinci asked.

"Bounty poster mentioned you'd fought."

"Heh, figures. Well, he's not here, and therefore he's not my problem. If he does show up, now, that's a different story. One with considerably more dissection involved."

Law nodded. "Okay." He looked around at the gathered pirates. "Why are they all here? And where's the hospital staff?"

"Something blew up last night! It took out a couple city blocks!" one of the pirates called out.

"Yeah, and the ship's on the other side of town. Besides, between the captain and everyone not wanting to mess with the hospital, this is the safest place in town," another added.

How on earth had he slept through that?

"...and let me guess, all the staff are at the site of the explosion, actually helping out?"

"Yup!" Alley Doc said, erroneously cheerfully.

"Great," Law said. "Shouldn't you be more worried about the fact that someone can just blow up a chunk of town?"

"Nah, I live with people who can do that." Alley Doc grinned widely. "So, Law, given any thought to that offer?"

"You haven't even told me what it is yet," Law said.

"Oh, right, where are my manners. Here!"

Alley Doc pulled a fruit out of his pocket.

A very specific fruit, a Devil Fruit in fact.

Kikoku leapt out of his sheath, Law bringing it to rest against Alley Doc's neck even as the sound of the rest of the Nightmare crew drawing their weapons in response echoed through the cafeteria.

"Where," Law said, smile gone, "did you get that?"

" _There's_ the grumpy face I was expecting," Alley Doc said with a grin. " _And_ you recognize it. Good. Makes bargaining a little easier." Despite the sword at his neck, he waved the Nightmares down with the hand that wasn't holding Rocinante's Devil Fruit. "Now, to answer your question, there was a pirate who liked to vivisect Fruit users. I obliterated his soul."

Law flinched as Alley Doc's eyes blazed a molten gold, his voice reverberating through Law's skull. Triskelions spun in the other pirate's eyes, end over end.

Then the glow faded, and Alley Doc smiled. "So, yeah. Took his stuff, among which was a whole _pile_ of Devil Fruits. Imagine my surprise when I ran into you. Fortuitous timing, indeed."

Law very carefully removed the sword, sliding Kikoku back into its sheath. "What. Do you want."

"Well, as it so happens, I could use your assistance. I have a lot of surgeries to do on these guys, and your Devil Fruit could accomplish that part in seconds. You do that, Donquixote Rocinante's Fruit is yours."

Law suppressed the sudden urge to cut the building in half as Alley Doc used _his_ name so casually.

"Do you accept, Trafalgar Law of the City of -"

" _Don't,"_ Law growled.

Alley Doc laughed. "Fine. Do you accept?"

"Sure. Let's get this over with. What do you plan to do during these surgeries?"

Alley Doc grinned even wider. "Provide moral support."

* * *

Bjorn had thought he understood pain. He'd taken his fair share of wounds in his time in the Shields, earned honorably in combat (and one on the ass that had a story behind it that he _never_ wanted revealed). He'd gone under the surgeon's knife - the surgeon who was now gone, lost in battle with that snake Zoan - when bandages and herbs hadn't sufficed, and that had rarely been with the benefit of anesthetic. He'd never screamed.

He'd thought he could be prepared for this.

He was wrong.

The agony that his captain was putting him through was beyond anything he'd ever known, molten metal filling his veins with every heartbeat, his nerves screaming in rejection at the power that had been placed within him. His bones creaked under the force, growing and changing in shape, and his muscles tore and then healed and then tore again as they too changed. New organs were growing within him, strange and alien shapes, and his body was growing to accommodate them. The agony tore at his mind, but unconsciousness was a mercy that he was not granted, and so he screamed in between heaving breaths.

Golden light invaded what little vision remained to him, and a hand touched his brow where he lay on the operating table-

 _Bjorn lay on deck, gasping for air._

 _One man._ One _man had laid out all thirty of his people. To make it worse, it wasn't even one of the scarier Nightmares. No, as an object lesson, they'd had the scrawniest, most useless-looking member of the crew against them._

 _It hadn't even been a contest._

 _Laying there, aching, Bjorn promised that he would not let this happen again._

 _ **No matter what it took, he would grow stronger.**_

And there was nothing.

Nothing except himself, and his captain.

Was it his captain? This vision seemed to glow, to carry some intangible presence to it, pressing on Bjorn's mind, and he found under the weight of those golden eyes there was nothing he could say, all his actions and the deeds and tales of his life seeming to be pulled apart and examined under that commanding gaze.

"Edtagare Bjorn. You are worthy. From this day, you are no man. You are much more. You are _Fenris_. You will defend your crew with your armor and shield, and strike down your opponents with sword and axe. You will battle for a future as yet unwritten, and serve captain and crew to bring about a new age. That is your purpose, child of the South, from now until the stars grow cold. Do you think it just?"

"I do."

"Then rise. Bjorn the mortal is dead. You must continue on."

On a cold operating table, as the winds outside howled and thunder crashed...

The first of the Wolves of the Sea opened his eyes.

* * *

Wallace was losing his hold on reality. Or, more accurately, reality was losing its hold on _him_.

He probably should be more concerned about that, because it was a brand of madness he'd never expected to deal with on the Grand Line...

But either it was growing harder to care as his body steadily flickered closer and closer to transparency, or the traumas of the last few months- alternate universes, murderous living skeletons, government conspiracies - had left him numb to anything else. So he simply sat there, staring at his hands as their substance thinned, and trying to blink away the intrusive misty shadows that tried to fill his vision more with every passing second.

He breathed in and out, slow and steady, trying to center himself as his body became steadily more insubstantial.

The last thing his vision made out was a halo of golden light-

 _William did not weep. He did not scream his hatred, he did not give voice to his fury, even as his friends, his crew, died around him._

 _He nocked, drew, and fired, despite knowing it was hopeless, despite having seen his captain fall at the hands of the_ monster _who had come for them, despite seeing the arrows_ bounce _off the enemy's skin. The Ranger Pirates would die today, if the man in the cloak had a say. Wallace refused to go quietly._

 _And, if he survived…_

 _ **He would become something just as terrifying, if it meant never seeing his crew struck down again.**_

The memory was gone, and he was in a place that was not a place, only himself and the Captain within it.

"William Wallace. You are ready. You are no longer a mere mortal - you are a Wraith. You will be the poisoned blade that strikes down your enemies. You will slip through the cracks of reality itself to hunt your prey. Your path will be one of cold and merciless death to those who would oppose your crew. Do you think it just?"

"I do."

"Then wake. There is much for you to learn."

The first of the Hellwraiths rose from his stupor.

* * *

XXIVI felt his skin crawl.

Literally, as if it was trying to peel itself off his bones.

It hurt, but pain was something CP4 training tended to teach you to ignore quickly.

What was driving him over the edge was the inescapable pressure in the back of his mind, half-formed awareness of other people's awareness, an escalating feedback loop where he knew they knew he knew they knew he knew they knew -

Silence came in a storm of light.

 _The moment the captain had called all four of them in, XXIVI knew they were doomed._

 _All four of the deep-cover Cipher Pol agents knew it, too. Most men would not have noticed the tension in the captain's lab, but XXIVI did._

" _So," the captain said calmly. "How do you want this to go down?"_

" _With us defecting," IIVIII, the mission's leader, said quickly._

" _Really, now."_

" _What we saw, last week…" XXIVI said, before trailing off. "We know that things can get ugly. We're spies. But to start something like the civil war, all for some mines…" He grimaced. "That, and if what Kaneki said was true..."_

" _It is."_

" _Then we've been fighting on the wrong side. And it's time to make that right."_

" _Consider me curious," the captain said. "What brings World Government agents onto my ship, with orders to conceal yourselves as members of the crew no less?"_

" _Your family."_

 _The captain paused. "I thought as much. Let me guess: my parents were far more than simple Marine doctors."_

" _That is...essentially correct," LIIVII added, the youngest of the agents starting to visibly sweat. XXIVI couldn't blame him. What little they'd had access to had been...disconcerting._

" _Hmph. Do you know why you four are still alive?"_

" _You intend to torture us for information," CVIII said, the older man's expression sour. "Given our betrayal, you likely won't let us live even if we want to defect."_

" _No. It's because Jack, Kaneki, and I pegged you after about a week on board, and made sure to keep an eye on you four - Kaneki was in favor of eating you, so be grateful. You haven't reported back to your superiors since. But I want you to."_

 _There was silence in the laboratory._

" _You want us to mislead them," IIVIII said._

" _Yes."_

" _Very well. We shall...Captain."_

 _As their Captain, truly their Captain now, rather than the four of them playing a part, smiled, XXIVI felt something he hadn't expected to._

 _Pride._

 _ **It was time to use their skills in pursuit of a better cause. The masks they wore would be of great use.**_

The memory vanished, and the Captain stood in front of him.

There was no speech. There was no need of one.

XXIVI went to one knee. "I am yours."

The golden presence laughed. "Very well, little deceiver. Let us see what becomes of you."

The first of the Fae donned the mask of its role without complaint.

* * *

Hathcock's head felt as though it would split open. Every movement of his eyes sent daggers burning through his skull, as thousands of pieces of information forced their way into his brain. He ground his teeth, resisting the urge to thrash and scream. Even closing his eyes brought no relief from the pain, only more of it as his overtasked brain tried to calculate every pattern of every vein in his eyelids. And so he endured. It would be worth it.

The pain spiked, his vision going white, and then gold-

 _Hathcock knew no such thing as regret._

 _He never had - that was what had made him so effective in the Marines as a sniper, and even more so as a pirate._

 _And yet…_

 _And yet, here on this battlefield of horrors, he couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of sorrow at what he had been called upon to do._

" _Please, please, mer-"_

Blam.

" _I give you mercy," he said, as he lowered his pistol and turned away from the horrifically burned body of a Krieger soldier, one who wouldn't have survived the morning. The seventeenth, thus far._

 _Carlos Hathcock buried his rage and sorrow at the life that had led him to this._

 _ **Never again. A clean death for his foes - that was his oath.**_

A room in the void. The Captain, standing there, awaiting his choice. There always was a choice.

"Mercy," he said. "I choose mercy."

The Captain smiled. "Very well, Carlos Hathcock. Your path will be that of mercy, delivering death to those who fall under your gaze. Follow it well."

The first Basilisk bared its fangs at an uncaring world, and laughed.

* * *

It's well on its way to night by the time we reach the first... _shop._

Despite that, lights still burn in the windows, and the proprietor - a sun-tanned man with wild eyes and missing front teeth - looks up with a cheerful grin on his face as we enter.

"Ah, welcome to Hassan's Employment Agency! Are you looking for something in particular?"

It's a good bluff. Honestly, if it wasn't for the subtle reek of blood and misery coming from the back rooms - the windowless, doorless back rooms - I might have even bought it.

 _You do tend to be particularly gullible._

"Yes," I say, affecting a broad grin. "I've been informed you are...discreet...in which sorts of people choose to utilize your...agency. As it so happens my crew needs a wide selection of people." I try not to gag on the words. I just need to get him to -

"Ah, of course, of course. I understand. Well, we have a large array of people in...need of employment...and I will allow you your pick of them, just a moment." He pauses. "Will your, ah, associates…"

"They're security. Not looking to purchase for themselves. They'll stay here."

"Quite alright, then."

He reaches under his desk, and pulls out a large ring of keys, before walking towards a large, heavily reinforced wooden door, and unlocking it. As the door creaks open, the smell of human misery intensifies tenfold.

Great.

I follow the man in silently. In sharp contrast to the storefront, which is nice, albeit slightly shabby, the back rooms look more like a dungeon.

"Now, I understand you will likely have some...security concerns, with your purchase. Not to worry, it's customary to fit the stock with explosive collars. Nothing excessive, just a little insurance policy to make sure they don't get any ideas about escape when they're on land. Once money changes hands, I'll key a detonator specifically for your use, but at the moment you have nothing to worry about, I have one right here."

He holds up a metal remote as we approach another door, this one with a grate set at eye level. The slaver leans in, nods, and then unlocks the door.

I resist the urge to gag at the smell, or at the sight of twenty human beings, shackled to the walls. Only one - a thin, almost skeletal woman, red hair cut so close to the skull she's nearly bald - even looks up as we enter. The rest keep their eyes on the floor, and the reason why becomes apparent as the slaver tsks in disapproval and kicks the redhead in the jaw. She slumps back to the floor.

" _So_ difficult to train them properly," he says, almost apologetically. "But well worth it. Now, what in particular were you looking for?"

I make a show of considering, before pointing at one of them at random - a fairly burly man, with intricate tattoos covering his right shoulder, some tribal design I don't recognize. "Him," I say flatly. "And take the collar off. He won't need it, and it's going to get in the way with what I plan to do."

"Oh, ah...you will pay, first?"

"How much?"

"For one of this quality...one, two million?"

"One point five."

"Deal!"

The man presses a series of buttons on his remote, and the collar on the slave clicks audibly. The man doesn't react.

"Now, do you have the money on hand, or -"

My tails rip free of my back, and quickly relieve the slaver of his keys, and his remote.

And his hands.

The man drops to the ground, already going glassy-eyed with shock, and my tails finish the job.

"You have my thanks," I say quietly, retrieving both of the devices and walking towards the man whose collar has been disabled. A brief tug rips the thing in two, and with it disabled, it doesn't go off. The man stirs. "You're...letting me go?" he mutters. "What…"

"All of you. Give me a few minutes."

"You'll-" He stops, coughing. "The syndicate…"

"They come, they die," I say neutrally, figuring out which key fits his shackles. "Now, help me with the others, I've got to figure out how to disarm all these collars."

The other slaves begin to look up, soft, barely-heard murmurs echoing in the room as the ex-slave stands up with a bit of help and takes the keys from my hand.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Baskonn," the tattooed man says shakily. "Who are you?"

"Yoshimura Kaneki, the Butcher Bird. And tonight, the guy who's going to end the local slave trade, because they made one of my pack upset," I say cheerily. "Let's get to work."

…

This little scene repeats, with some variation, across the entire night.

Occasionally, someone decides to be difficult. This is easily solved.

"Where exactly are you keeping the keys to the slave pens?"

"What?! I'm not sure what you've been told, but this is a reputable employment-"

"C, eat his fingers."

"Oh, you mean these keys."

...

Occasionally, there is resistance.

It ends poorly, extremely quickly, and with a great deal of blood coating most of the available surfaces in the room that said resistance is staged in.

Funnily enough, out of the dozens of shops, large and small, we visited, only one slaver actually had the common sense to try to threaten to kill the slaves with their explosive collars.

His expression when C simply yanked the remote out of his hand with his powers was something to treasure.

His expression when his slaves descended on him with righteous fury and lengths of chain was even better.

...

It takes several hours to clean out the slave markets, even though, as Pamca and a few of the other slaves have told me, it's one of the smaller ones. Well worth it, though.

Only one problem.

It's only once we've amassed several hundred freed slaves that we realize we have no idea what to do with them.

"This is going to be...problematic," I say, looking over the crowded street. The rest of the Oni are scattered around it, keeping an eye out for anyone who wants to cause trouble, while the slaves are working to help each other out as best they can - some medical supplies and food have been 'liberated' from the deceased slavers, but not nearly enough.

"Any ideas?" I ask Six.

The man considers.

"We cannot fit them on the ship," he says finally. His frown was miniscule. "But three things are needed - food, shelter, and defenses." He looks over the crowd. "We lack the physical space for that, but we _do_ have a lot of money."

I nod. "So we can buy the food and the weapons they'll need...still not sure on shelter. It's not like there's a conveniently empty hotel anywhere."

"No. But there are large, dense forests."

I grin. "Good idea, Six."

The man's smile is almost as small as his frown, but the brief flickers of some kind of pride flickering through his scent are as clear as day.

"Right! Everyone, time to head for the woods!"

* * *

Jack sighed heavily. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this.

"Okay, that's a good story, good motivations, great idea except for all the trouble we're going to get into, but it doesn't answer why there was a gigantic column of fire that took out several city blocks, _or why you're all covered in blood."_

Kaneki, who was a solid crimson from head to toe, shrugged. "So, um...things didn't exactly go according to plan. The second question...um, there were goats. A lot of goats."

"Endless goats," one of the Oni supplied, looking haunted.

"Yes. Not sure _where_ they came from, but it was either we blenderize them or be trampled. So, yeah."

Jack suppressed his rapidly growing headache with a grimace. "Okay. So. From the top. What exactly happened after you went to the woods, why the column of fire, and what am I going to have to do to fix it?"

Kaneki started talking, and Jack's headache grew.


	57. Chapter 80

Lauren woke up with the mother of all headaches and her mouth feeling like an iguana had died a long and lingering death inside it.

She groaned, tried to move, stopped as her headache escalated to 'being stabbed in the eyes' levels of pain, and lay on her bed for a moment, swearing bloody and protracted revenge against whichever nameless caveman had discovered how to create alcohol.

Then she realized something else was in her bed, and rolled out, pulling a sawed-off shotgun from under her pillow and glaring at the immobile lump on the other side of her cot, covered by the blankets.

It didn't move.

She bit back another groan of pain at her aching head, and flipped the blanket over.

It...was some kind of gun.

That was the closest she could get to describing it - it had a barrel, a semi-recognizable arrangement of grip and trigger near the back, and a carrying handle like she'd put on her LMG design. But the grip and trigger assembly were at the _top_ of the weapon, as though it was expected to be fired from the hip alone...not to mention the tanks mounted to the weapons underside, or the obvious nozzle…

Lauren cursed her hungover brain as she realized that the object in her bed was obviously a flamethrower.

She would question why there was a flamethrower in her bed later. First, water.

She was absurdly grateful for two things.

One, her quarters had a small bathroom. Little more than a shower cubicle, a sink, and a toilet, but still.

Second, that the Captain had long since rigged up a desalination system of some kind. She had no idea how it worked, beyond being located somewhere in the bilge, but it gave her freshwater no matter what, so she didn't care.

Several glasses of water downed and her head somewhat more clear, she left the bathroom, and glared at the flamethrower for a second, before realizing there was a sticky note attached to the barrel of the thing. She peeled it off. On it was a note, in her own handwriting.

 _Dear Sober Me,_

 _Longer explanation and manual is on the desk. Have fun!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Drunk You._

Lauren sighed heavily, crumpled the note, and turned to her incredibly tiny desk, where, sure enough, a stack of papers as high as her hand sat.

Great.

She almost went to the desk, but she stopped mid-stride as her bandaged left arm suddenly elected to add its protests to those coming from her head, all the skin from her shoulder to her wrist suddenly blazing with pain. She grit her teeth, and pulled the bandages off.

"What the fuck…"

She'd expected to see the mottled marks of her burns.

Instead, what greeted her was a _storm_ of black ink. Twisted occult symbols merged with tribal designs, kabbalic script, and intricate circles she half-recognized from a book on shamanic magic she'd read as a child. A cohesive whole, it covered her left arm almost entirely from shoulder to wrist.

Looking closer, she could see the same patterns as her burns echoed in the tribal lines, the broad strokes of tattooed ink following them and building an almost artistic pattern from her injuries.

Lauren sat down on the side of her bed, and made a promise.

 _No more fucking drinking._

* * *

Herman was woken up by the smell of hot iron and a persistent ache in his ribs. He groaned, opened his eyes, and sat up quickly as he was presented with a view of a rather familiar warehouse-slash-forge instead of the ceiling of his quarters. Someone had placed him on a mattress in the corner of the smithy. What the hell-?

"Sleep alright?" a familiar voice asked.

Herman glared at the old man, and racked his brains. He'd spent the day working in the forge, first with the bellows, then more advanced tasks as the armor came together, then, with the hardest work done, eventually hammering out steel ingots into useful tools with the old man watching…then nothing.

"What the heck happened?"

"Well, my son got discharged from the hospital. Apparently your captain and another pirate swept by and fixed up everyone. Rest of them are still on observation, but my boy ate one of those Devil Fruits and heals fast enough they just sent him home. He came in, you got to talking, and told him it was your captain...so he hugged you. And my boy ain't exactly human."

Well, that explained his aching ribs.

"Doesn't seem like that would knock me out," Herman said, getting to his feet and noting that, mercifully, he'd been left in his clothes and with his usual assortment of travelling pouches. He rooted through one, found one of the Captain's special pills, and popped it, feeling it take effect quickly and start working on the pain and injuries. Amakatta lay next to the mattress, and he slung the blade across his body

"Oh, no, though you didn't like it. No, he tripped and fell on top of you."

Herman winced. "That'd do it."

"I'll say. He's still patching the crater he left in the floor back in the house. We taped up the ribs, and stuck you on the mattress, and now we're here."

"Huh." Herman paused for a moment, then bowed to the old man. "You have my thanks for your hospitality," he said evenly.

The old blacksmith laughed. "It was my boy's fault you got put out of commission, why wouldn't I lend a hand?" He shrugged. "Right, now, I managed to finish up the fiddly bits of your new tin suit. Wasn't expecting to, but you've got a knack for hammer and tongs, and that counts for a lot for the difficult parts we finished yesterday like the main plate."

Herman suppressed a smile at the surge of pride he felt at that statement, and decided snark was the best option. "What, you thought I'd leave an old man to do all the hard work for me?"

"Old? Brat, I might be old, but I can still break you over my knee."

"Yeah, yeah. So it's finished?"

"Damn right it's finished," Hephaestos grumbled, pointing at a cloth-covered object sitting next to the largest anvil in the forge. "Go take a look if you want, I'm going to go check on the other brat and see if he's done."

The old man vanished through a back door, leaving Herman alone in the forge.

Herman looked around, then walked to the cloth-covered armor. "Right, then," he muttered.

The cloth came free in one smooth pull.

Herman grinned at the suit. The entire thing was smooth, matte black armor, dozens of plates overlapping each other instead of the more traditional single pieces - more flexible, if slightly more vulnerable to a clever bastard with an armor-piercing weapon. The breastplate and pauldrons were sloped just right to deflect incoming fire, supplemented by a heavy gorget and even heavier armor on the breastplate than anywhere else. The gauntlets, though they'd cover the backs of his hands and fingers, kept the inside grip and his fingertips unarmored, the better to hold on to Amakatta. The armored boots, the metal scuffed and studded, would provide better traction than smooth metal while protecting him from anyone who decided to get clever by throwing around caltrops, and as for the helm…

Herman grinned as he ran a hand across the snarling wolfshead that crowned the suit of armor. More than decoration, the helm, just like the rest of the suit, would still fit even if he shifted into hybrid or into full wolf form.

Damn good work. And he'd been the one to hammer it into shape, under the old man's guidance. Work that he could take pride in, that he was _great_ at, to build something with his hands rather than cutting it down...

 _Thoom._

Herman whirled at the sound, and gaped at the figure who'd just walked through the door.

It wasn't really the height that made him startle - he hung out with Jack and he'd met a lot of people of absurd height, someone topping out at ten feet wasn't a big deal. No, what made Herman's jaw drop for a moment was the fact that the...man...had coal-black skin and eyes that glowed like coals.

"Hello, friend," the giant, clad in green robes, said calmly. "I apologize for earlier."

Herman waved the giant off. "Nah, no permanent harm done. Been hurt worse in training."

Turns out, Gin was a vicious little bugger when you pushed him far enough.

The giant smiled. "So you don't remember anything?"

"Nah."

"Well, again, friend, I am Vulkan Lives," the giant said, pronouncing it 'Li-vays'. "I plan to gather a strong crew and sail the seas. Too bad your captain has your loyalty already - you would be a good friend to sail alongside."

"Thanks, I guess," Herman said awkwardly. "Not sure friendship is something you're going to find being a pirate, though."

"You would be surprised."

"Eh, not really…"

Thankfully, Herman's baby transponder snail chose that moment to ring, saving him from further conversation. He snatched up the mollusc. "What."

" _Herman? Get your ass back to the ship,"_ Jack said, the snail adopting an intensely irritated expression. Either the bosun was severely hungover, or someone did something immensely stupid.

"Jack? Listen, listen...I quit."

Okay, so apparently it was possible to transmit killing intent through a snail. Herman put the tiny mollusc down and began backing away as the thing started glowing with a malevolent black light.

" _ **Explain yourself.**_ "

"As navigator. I'm going to go be a blacksmith. You're going to need one anyway with the Captain's whole scheme of shoving half our guys into armor."

The hellish light vanished. " _Okay. Okay, fine, great, sure, whatever. I no longer care, except for us NEEDING SOMEONE TO FUCKING SAIL THE SHIP!"_

"What do you think I've been training some idiots for?" Herman answered. "I hated doing the job, did you honestly think I wouldn't learn how to delegate? Go find Pucci, Gellan, and Lumbus, they know how to read maps and navigate by now."

" _..._ _ **Fine. Now get back to the ship, we've got shit to do."**_

"Roger."

Herman picked up the snail, which looked slightly terrified at what had been transmitted through it, and shoved it back into a pocket, before looking back at Lives - and Hephaestos, who had apparently walked in at some point.

"So, uh, I could use some help learning the trade, but right now I've got to go."

The old man nodded. "Try not to get killed."

"Come on, it's not like there's anyone in the city who's scary enough to mess with us…"

"I meant by that bosun of yours," the old man said.

Herman sweatdropped. "Yeah, not looking forward to that."

Who had pissed Jack off so badly?

* * *

"You know, I'm actually somewhat impressed," Jack says blankly, looking up at the palisade wall. The fortification sits behind a steep ditch, the logs packed vertically into a hummock of earth. "How the heck did you build that overnight?"  
I shrug. "I have extremely sharp, extremely strong appendages. The Oni and C are superhumanly strong. So are some of the slaves, mostly the part-giants. And we had to clear a good chunk of forest anyway. Didn't take all that long."

"Right." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, so we've got people grabbing more food and supplies now, and the rest of the crew is going to trickle back in to the boat and get told to pitch in. This is manageable."

I nod along. Even Six seemed happy enough to pitch in with buying the food, enough so I felt comfortable letting the Oni and C keep an eye on him while Jack and I ran here. "I'm actually somewhat surprised you aren't pissed."

"Oh, I am, but mostly because you didn't ask us for help."

"Should I have?"

"I left you without supervision for _one day_ and you managed to 'accidentally' blow up the syndicate's headquarters. Yes."

"I told you, they decided to come after us so after I killed the assholes here -" I point towards a darker patch in the earth where said assholes had been (really, going after several hundred slaves and _us_ with just a dozen guys? Not smart) and keep talking. "- I went to go deal with the boss and convince him to leave us alone. Not my fault one of them shot at me, missed, and set off their illegal and improperly stored ammo stockpile."

"Is _that_ the story you're sticking to?"

"Hey, it's true. OI! Open the gate!"

We didn't actually build a gate into the wall of logs so much as lash a couple of the larger ones into a makeshift drawbridge. Said drawbridge crashes down with an earth-shaking thump, revealing the interior of the camp. The part-giant holding the rope-and-pulley system that let it down waves at me, and I wave back. "Anything happen, Elric?"

"No, Mr. Yoshimura," the ex-slave says. "Or at least, nothing important. This your captain?"

"Captain's busy shoving new and exciting organs into willing volunteers," Jack says gruffly. "Name's Rubeus Jack. I'm the crew's bosun. You have someone in charge here that isn't Butcher Bird?"

Elric scratches his head. "Not...really? Nobody's put themselves in charge yet, there hasn't been much time. Most everyone's still trying to figure out what they want to do next."

"Right. Okay, Kaneki, let's see how much of a clusterfuck this is."

"I should be offended, but then I remembered I really don't give a fuck what you think," I reply, utterly deadpan. Elric pulls the drawbridge back up as we enter, tying the rope down again.

The camp is makeshift at the moment, most of the shelters consisting of lean-tos and improvised tents, laid out in rough rows. Hundreds of ex-slaves congregate in small groups, some of them still bearing hastily-treated injuries while others try to make edible meals out of whatever they could glean from the woods. Farther back, a crew of part-giants works on crafting some properly sized spears and clubs for themselves - they're probably intending to go hunting some of the larger creatures in the woods. Eyes follow us as we walk down the main 'street', and whispers and mutters follow between everyone present.

Jack looks around the camp, muttering under his breath for a moment, before nodding. "Good work," he says shortly. "Still pissed you didn't think to ask for help, though."

"It happened very quickly and I am not good at long-term planning," I say with a shrug. "Got a plan?"

"The bones of one. We'll need to talk with the Captain about it." He pauses. "And see how some of the people here feel about a life of piracy."

"We can't really fit any more people on the ship, you know."

"This place has a shipyard."

I grin. "I like the way you think."

"Why the hell do you think I'm bosun? Look, I'll take care of things here. You go back to the ship. Dig out the armory, we were planning to sell most of it when Lauren's gear showed up anyway."

I nod, and sketch a salute before running back and leaping over the palisade wall.

Jack's got things in hand, now.

* * *

"Okay, this is about the fiftieth time I've had to say this today. No, I had nothing to do with whatever you experienced while the implants did their work."

"But I saw-" Halfdan Lukas began.

Vinci put a hand on the man's shoulder. "You were hallucinating as your brain rewrote itself, and said hallucinations followed a coherent narrative. That's all. Trust me, the only thing I contributed was the actual implant and keeping an eye on your vitals."

The Augment - one of the Wolves, a heavily muscled hulk of a man, eight feet of gene-wrought miracles, and also the most obvious of the four Augment types - sagged slightly. "I understand, Captain. But I thought...well, doesn't really matter."

"Don't worry about it," Vinci said kindly. "Now, any complaints?"

"None. I...well, I feel great. Except for the fact I'm probably going to need new clothes...and probably new weapons," he added, examining his enlarged hands. "But, physically...wonderful. Like I could take on the world."

"Good. All twenty of the additional organs and your reinforced physiology seem to be cooperating quite nicely, so you're free to go."

Vinci watched as Lukas moved towards the door, and smiled.

The Basilisks were snipers without compare, meant to calculate vectors and angles on the fly and use that information to put bullets in heads at impossible ranges. The Fae could read and understand a man's intentions from across the room and change face and form as easily as breathing, making them natural infiltrators. The Wraiths could step in and out of the very air, phasing ever-so-slightly out of reality- terrifying opponents.

But the Wolves...the Wolves were fighters, plain, simple, and direct. It was...refreshing.

Also, seeing that much musculature move so fluidly...well. That was a reward in and of itself.

Significantly less pleasant was the entrance of Law and his Mink friend the moment Lukas had cleared the doorway, the Surgeon of Death looking about ready to murder.

Vinci looked at Bepo. "He thought over what I told him?"

The Mink nodded.

"Aaaaand now he's pissed off."

The Mink nodded again, more slowly.

"Will running help?"

Bepo shook his head.

"It's funny," the thin man said tonelessly. "You shook me up so badly, it took me a while to realize exactly what you'd said. Now, explain how the _hell_ you knew about Rocinante...or I'll take you apart."

Well. This was going to be tricky.

Vinci very carefully removed his hands from his pockets. "Really? Threatening the man who saved the life of your navigator and gave you back something you long thought lost? Thought you had some kind of gratitude, Surgeon."

"You know as much as I think you do, I can't take the risk of you spilling the beans to Doflamingo. Gratitude or not."

"Really? I commend your ruthlessness. Now, to answer your question...do you know how old my first mate really is? _What_ he is? Imagine, if you will, an immortal with a deep and abiding hatred of the World Government in general and the Celestial Dragons in particular, who has been on this earth for over a century, able to blend in with almost any human society on the globe, able to swim wherever he pleases, kill Sea Kings for food, and recover from any injury. Kaneki might be a blunt instrument in a fight, but he's not an idiot, and he's had a century to put his immortality to use. His information network has dug up things you can't _imagine._ The Donquixote family deciding to quit being Celestial Dragons got his attention because of how uncharacteristic it was for those sacks of shit...and so he kept an eye on Rocinante and his career. Bits and pieces trickled back, and when I saw you I knew exactly what I was looking at. Honestly, though, I would have given you the fruit even if I didn't need your help."

"What?"

Vinci shrugged. "It belonged to a good man, now it passes on to you. It's the right thing to do."

Law took a deep breath. Let it out. "How much else does your first mate know about me?"

"You dropped off the radar after Rocinante was killed. Precious little beyond your name and origins."

"Hmph. And Doflamingo?"

"A lot about his powers and reputation, and some details of operations he might have in the works, but nothing confirmed."

"You think he'd be willing to share?"

Vinci shrugged. "Your job to convince him. It took Bartholomew Kuma showing up to make him spill the beans to me, and he _likes_ me."

"Ku- never mind, I don't want to know," the Surgeon of Death said hastily.

"So, are we good, or am I going to have to be looking over my shoulder until my ship's Log Pose sets and I can leave? Because that's going to take the better part of two months and I don't think I can maintain the requisite level of paranoia for that long."

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, now I'm sure you won't ever give information to Doflamingo."

"Ah, that's nice -"

"Because you'd annoy him into murdering you about five seconds after you met."

"Dahahaha, fair. Oh, one more question."

"What."

"Do you mind donating a blood sample? It's for science."

Law stared at Vinci - and then bolted out the door.

Bepo glanced at his fleeing captain, then looked back at Vinci. "Was that necessary?"

"Yes."

"Right. I'm gonna...make sure he doesn't jump out a window. Please stop tap-dancing on his buttons? Please?"

"No promises."

Bepo sighed heavily, and ran off in pursuit.

Vinci's snail chose that moment to ring. He picked up the mollusc with a grin. "What is it?"

" _Okay, Captain, short version is one of the Oni got upset and now Bacanar no longer has a functioning slave trade, and we now own a large fortified camp in the woods and are guarding the six hundred and eighty-seven ex-slaves inside it. Also, Kaneki blew up the entire syndicate,"_ Jack said, quickly and utterly tonelessly.

Vinci laughed. "Well that's great! I was hoping to take all our new Augments out for some training, and now we have a camp to do it in! Also, freed slaves, always good. Should make a memo of that."

" _Well, we've got to do something with them. Some of them want to try to make their way home, others want to stay and turn the camp into some kind of extra town...and then there's the ones who want to join the crew."_

"So let them."

" _We can't fit them on the ship, Captain."_

"Jack, how big is our budget?"

" _...I'm pretty sure my calculator just said 'yes' when I attempted to add it all up."_

"Buy them a ship or two, equip, train, and arm them, et cetera."

 _"...gonna be honest, I was already doing that."_

"And that's why you're the Bosun. I'll be down in an hour or so with the Augments. Everyone else get back yet?"

" _Yeah. Everyone's on the job now, helping to deal with this mess, save for Herman - he's off blacksmithing."_

"Ah, let him, the poor bastard needs a hobby."

" _...Whatever you say, Captain. So, what's on the agenda for the next month and three weeks?"_

Vinci grinned. "Well, first training. Then...well, we're stuck here anyway. Why not have some fun?"


	58. Chapter 81

Tupan Prvi had a mission, and he was damned if he wasn't going to complete it.

He knew where his target was - it was easy enough to find, they weren't being stealthy at all. Now he simply had to do what he'd come to do…

And when he did, the honor of the Knightmare Pirates could at last be secured. It seemed ungrateful to do this so soon after the Nightmares had helped them, but honor didn't care about gratefulness.

Now, he'd seen the white-coated bastard turn around this corner…

"TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!"

The last coherent thought in Prvi's head before a mob of extremely drunk townspeople trampled him was a panicked _What._

* * *

Six was grateful for the existence of rooftops. They provided both a useful vantage point and a great deal of safety from what appeared to be either a drunken party or a small riot, which was taking place below them.

"So, apparently this place is famous for a few things," the Dragon said with no small amount of distaste. "First, there's a tribe of intelligent monkeys that lives in the woods. Second, apparently they developed some weird kind of mutant yeast that makes incredibly strong alcohol, and the humans got ahold of it too. Third, and related to the second...this island's greatest contribution to world culture is the creation of the toga party."

"TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!" came the shouting from below.

"Okay, but why the heck are they throwing one now?" the Revenant questioned, watching the chaos below. "Thanks for the save, by the way. Also, are you going to let go at some point?"

The Dragon blinked, before unwinding his tendrils from the bodies of the four officers he'd grabbed and letting them stand on the roof under their own power. Six stretched his arms and legs out, before sitting on the edge of the rooftop.

"Sorry," the Dragon said sheepishly. "Kinda reacted on instinct there. You good, Six?"

"I am functional," Six replied, which seemed to reassure the Dragon as to the condition of his hoard.

Six resolved to make himself physically stronger soon, if it would spare the Dragon some worrying every time something possibly damaging happened near him.

"Wait, so…" the Gunner began, before groaning. "Dammit, drunk me."

"What, did you leave something burning in the lab?" the Dragon asked.

"No, just remembered one of the things her notes said. Apparently while drunk I built an 'infinite yeast manifold fueling system'. And if that stuff makes really potent alcohol, I bet whatever I used it in makes really good flamethrower fuel. Okay, I'm gonna bounce, I really want to test that out."

"Take Pravilno with you, we should make sure he doesn't have any lingering phobias," the Dragon said with a toothy smile, shoving the bandaged man forwards. The man gave the Dragon a look that was clearly intended to maim (which was confusing, because as far as Six could tell the Cloth-Cloth Fruit did not grant any ocular dismemberment powers), but followed the Gunner off across the rooftops anyway.

"Well, at least last we checked C and the Oni were off elsewhere in town," the Dragon said. "I really don't want to know what happens if someone somehow managed to get C drunk."

"Can't you, you know, not drink alcohol?"

"It's C, he might not realize it's not supposed to taste like death."

"Fair point. And you never answered my question."

There was a thump on the roof, and Six turned. The Bosun was clearly drunk, and extremely so, if Six's meager experience with such people was any judge. At least his pants were still on.

"Issat...well, its for all you guysh. They don't know dat, tho...God, you're all sush pains in the ashes." The Bosun sat down hard. "An where'm I? Stuck dealing with it, cuz now I'm not even the stronghesht. Just a paperwork monkey…"

Six considered. "If you are worried about strength, why not simply ask the Captain to Augment you?"

"Wut?"

Oh, the Bosun had not considered this. Six hoped he was not overstepping.

"You do not have a Devil Fruit and are human. That is the criteria the Captain has for the current generation of Augments. Why not simply find him and ask?"

The Bosun stared at Six for a moment, then nodded slowly, and leapt back off the roof and into the crowd below.

The Revenant sighed. "Right, I'm gonna go make sure he doesn't do something stupid," he said, before following the Bosun down into the toga party. This left Six alone with the Dragon, who elected to sit with his back against a chimney.

Six watched the chaos below. Some figures stood out from the crowd of townspeople, whether through height or just being very obviously strange. He caught sight of a thin man with violet eyes and iron nails hammered into his forehead, talking excitedly with a much larger man with a cone-shaped head that was wrapped in a starred and striped flag. After several moments, both slammed their heads together, creating a ripple in the crowds around them, before the two staggered off.

Elsewhere, a large man with coal-black skin was engaged in a drinking contest with an equally large red-headed man, the latter's arm marked by a large metallic cuff, while a thin and worried-looking man watched the entire thing.

Six caught sight of Herman, a stein of beer in hand, arguing loudly with what looked like an animate, heavily armed diving suit.

Other places were small islands of calm in the chaos. In one, a thin, enormously pale man stared at a Go board, as his opponent, an anonymous figure wrapped up in a trench coat and even more bandages than Pravilno, added another stone with exaggerated care. In another, the Unbound Physician held up a vial of blood, while a man in a ridiculous round hat glared at him. In a third, a red-skinned, squarish human seemed to be debating calmly with a black-haired albino, a man dressed like a stereotypical pirate captain, and a cadaverous man with a preacher's collar.

And then, of course, there were the small areas of violence, because this was a city of pirates, after all. Sabres clashed as a wild-looking man with an enormous mustache and a fur hat battled a man with a monocle, pith helmet, and red jacket. A man with a beard larger than his entire body traded blows to the face with a boxer, each of them standing still and taking the other's shots. A creature made of stone with a swirling symbol etched on its brow wrestled with what looked like a minotaur in golden robes, while an enormously built suit of plate armor chased down a smaller man in a gas mask.

Six was glad he was on the roof. Everything going on looked exhausting.

"Hm. Looks like all the pirate crews the Captain and Law fixed up are out and about," the Dragon mused. "Stuck here like the rest of us."

"You know them?"

"Checked up on their bounties last night after my shift watching the camp. Not needing to sleep much helps. Some of them are pretty tough customers…"

"PEOPLE OF BACANAR!" an extremely loud voice shouted, and both Six and the Dragon winced at the sheer volume. The party didn't go silent, but it noticeably quieted, and members of the various crews smacked the captains who were dueling upside their heads until they stopped attempting to murder each other.

A reedy man with a white mustache that was broader than his shoulders stood above the crowd - probably on a box, Six couldn't discern exactly what it was.

"TODAY, BY THE GRACE OF GOD AND SOME DISCERNING GAS LEAKS, THIS TOWN IS AT LAST FREED OF THE SCOURGES OF SLAVERY AND ORGANIZED CRIME! REJOICE!"

There was a great deal of cheering.

"LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THE GREAT CITY OF BACANAR HAS DECLARED SLAVERY ILLEGAL, REAFFIRMING OUR COMMITMENT TO HUMAN RIGHTS! KNOW THAT WE ARE NOW FREE FROM THE THREATS OF THE SYNDICATE, FREE TO BE HUMAN TO OUR FELLOW MAN ONCE MORE!"

More cheering resulted.

Then the old man looked through the crowd. "And," he said, in a thankfully more normal tone of voice. "Let this be known. Whoever was once held in bondage, and freed by the actions of those mysterious forces that were at work that night...our gates are open to them, and we will offer whatever assistance we can."

The old man then looked up, right past Six and directly at the Dragon, who suddenly went very still.

"NOW! BACK TO THE PARTY! I HAVE SIXTY KEGS OF THE STRONGEST ALE ON THE GRAND LINE SITTING HERE, AND I DON'T PLAN TO WASTE IT!"

The chaos resumed almost immediately.

"So there's government officials who _aren't_ scumbags," the Dragon said pithily. "Good to know." He stood, and stretched, yawning. "I'm going to turn in. Need a hand across the rooftops, or do you want to stay for a bit?"

Six considered, and then stood himself. "Help would be appreciated."

* * *

Gin looked over the rail, and stared at the ocean.

He was part of a small and select group - namely, those who weren't hungover and were actually present on _Ends Justified_.

This group consisted of him, C, Kaneki, Six, and Lauren...and that was it. Most of the rest of the crew, the ones the Captain had Augmented included, were scattered below decks, either comatose or wishing they were. Some of the others were still missing...not that Gin was particularly worried. The entire city was hungover at the moment.

But that wasn't his problem.

"Why," he asked plaintively, "is the ocean on fire?"

Lauren smiled sheepishly as everyone slowly turned to look at her. "Okay, so maybe my flamethrower is a _bit_ more terrifying than I thought. On a related note, drunk me somehow welded a Flame Dial into the Wind Bazooka to make it, so its fire-launching mechanism is powered by its own flames. And it can launch packets of fire _really_ far." She gestured at the flaming chunk of ocean, which continued violating sanity with a peaceable crackling sound. "I tried using the counteragent. It just made it bigger and...well, green."

Gin stared at the section of flaming green ocean. "Okay, so, it's not moving, it's not blocking off access to the docks or the harbor, and it's not getting bigger. All in favor of ignoring it and pretending it's not our problem?"

"Aye!" came the response from everyone present.

"Wonderful. Now let's go set up breakfast. There's going to be enough people in need of hangover cures everyone needs to help out."

* * *

The woods were alive with the sound of creation and destruction.

The former was because the Captain had, in the absence of proper weapons and armor being gotten for the various Augments, decreed that the best way for the really big guys to get used to their strength was in constructing permanent homes for all the not-slaves-any-more people. That necessitated both a lot of construction work and a lot of clearing the forest for materials to build with. They were making a lot of progress, too, and reinforcing and rebuilding the walls to boot.

The latter was due entirely to the fact that the officers and remaining non-Augments (fewer by the day) were busy training.

"HRRRRAAAARGH!"

"Oh shit _Rug Shield!"_

There was a very large boom as Ostavila's fist impacted Pravilno's hastily raised wall of cloth. Both of the fighters took a step back, the reddish aura surrounding the woman vanishing. "Rug Shield?" Ostavila asked with a quizzical look.

C couldn't blame her. Pravilno was bad at naming things.

"Hey, is what you call it when you charge yourself up any better?"

Ostavila shrugged. "Might have a point there, 'High-Volt' isn't exactly great…" She paused. "Hey, captain! I'm stealing Monster Mode from you!"  
"Don't really care, I was going to give it a new name anyway!" Vinci replied with a laugh, before going back to tutoring some of the not-slaves in how and where they should be stabbing someone.

The Captain had been in a pretty good mood once he'd gotten over his hangover. And actually gotten back on the ship, three days after the party. C wasn't sure what he'd been doing, but he'd last seen the Captain running off with a lot of people, and there'd been bite marks on his neck that he refused to explain. Very confusing.

"What name would that be, Captain?" Kaneki asked absent-mindedly as his tails deflected another series of attacks from three of the Oni while he sidestepped a fourth, and the fifth and six were still recovering from the body blows dealt to them.

"Eh, I added a third heart and some extra organs last night. Since activating all of those would really push my limits and the old Monster Mode won't anymore...I'm gonna call the old version 'Second Gear' and the new one 'Third Gear'."

Kaneki froze, and then started laughing. Percy took advantage of this to sidestep the tendrils and punch him into a tree, which broke in half. The tree was then reduced to sawdust by lashing tendrils as Kaneki got back up, and all six Oni tensed.

Kaneki laughed again, waving a hand. "Alright, fight's over, nice job," he said.

All six Oni dropped to the ground, panting.

"Gods above and below, it's so much worse after you get a break for a few days," Eka mumbled from his position in the dirt.

"Whyyyyyy…" Tina moaned.

"Because if you idiots get hurt I'm going to be pissed," Kaneki said with a smile. "And honestly that's exhausting to do. Speaking of, where's Six? I need to make sure he knows how to defend himself."

"Here," a very quiet voice said from behind C.

C did not react. He _didn't_. Even if he did, he was wearing a mask, so any possible expression of surprise couldn't possibly be seen.

"Great! Get over here."

Six stepped into C's field of view and walked over to where Brother was standing. He seemed almost...nervous? At least that's what his scent said - his body language was impenetrable as ever - but C couldn't understand why. Six didn't _get_ nervous.

Hmph. Humans were confusing. Even the broken ones kept doing things that didn't make sense.

"Right, so, let's see what we're starting off with. Six, you've got one free shot. Hit me as hard as you can."

Six considered. "As hard as possible?"

"Exactly. Take your time if you need to."

Six stood there in silence for quite a bit, unmoving. Kaneki cocked his head. "You _do_ know how to-"

Six lashed out in a single convulsive movement, quite possibly the least functional hand-waving that could still be considered a punch, and smacked Kaneki in the chest.

There was a very loud noise, and suddenly Brother wasn't there anymore.

Six stood there for a moment, cradling a disjointed mess of broken bones instead of a hand, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

The Captain hurried over and set to work.

"Damn," a voice said from over C's shoulder. "Is it just me, or do all the officers have an initiation where they beat the shit out of Kaneki?"

C turned. Jack stood there. Beefier than usual, but still Jack. "Where did he go?" C asked.

"See that mountain in the distance?" Jack said, pointing.

C looked.

"In about three, two, one…"

There was a very loud rumble, and a large part of the mountain fell over.

C gave the unconscious Six another look. "Okay, I think I like the new guy better now," he said. Anyone who could punch Brother that hard deserved respect.

"It's good to know that if worst comes to worst he can smack someone across an island," Jack said with a nod. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be training?"

"Brother said ghoul stuff will happen tomorrow. There's a natural cove across the island that's infested with Sea Kings. Captain told me to try lifting metal without moving my arm." C pointed at a metal cube, which stubbornly refused to move. "It's not working great. So I can't kill people with my brain yet."

"Why is nobody concerned that the Butcher Bird had part of a mountain fall on him?" one of the not-slaves, the tattooed one...Barry?...C was going to call him Barry - asked.

C shrugged. "It's Brother. He'll be okay. Probably. Maybe he'll get really angry and I'll need to shove him in the ocean again, but he'll be fine."

Barry stared at C, then shrugged and shouldered the trident he'd been given to train with. "I have the feeling I don't want to know what's going on there."

"You don't," Jack said. "Trust me. The inside of C's head is not a fun place."

C flipped Jack off. He liked his head. He kept all his marbles in it.

"Riiiiight. Hey, how are things going to go, with those of us who want to be pirates?" Barachiel asked.

Jack shrugged. "Got a couple of frigates lined up at the shipyards. This place isn't Water Seven, but they work fast. Hardest part is getting free time for Lauren to work on the guns in between the rest of her projects. And I'm working out which of our actual crew to detach from the _Ends_ to act as cadre. Rest of that, including who your lot wants to captain the ships...that's up to you. Captain's orders."

"Huh," Baralicious said neutrally. "Seems like you're going to a lot of trouble for us, bosun."

"You decided to be crew, you get treated like crew. Honestly I'm surprised the Captain hasn't started you on some of his concoctions yet."

"I want to test if the Augment surgery works properly on people who haven't been marinating in C-cell steroids for the past couple of months," the Captain said as he finished splinting up Six's hand. "Once I find the time for that, and figure out a plan of action, then I'll start our new recruits on the pills."

Banana looked uncertain. "And the feeling of existential terror just increased."

Jack laughed. "Welcome to the Nightmare Pirates. Leave your sanity at the door, you won't need it where you're going."

C nodded. It was true.


	59. Chapter 82

Tupan Drugo had had a plan.

His brother had tried to corner the Nightmares in the city, but they had been wily and there had been that unfortunate incident with the wandering toga party, one it was rumored the Nightmares had started.

So, obviously, the solution was to deliver his message when they couldn't use the populace for cover. Them running out to the rapidly growing town that all the former slaves had set up in - how the _hell_ had that been built so quickly? - gave him the opportunity he needed.

Unfortunately, he had gotten severely lost after an attack by one of the random house-sized bears that apparently roamed the island. Yes, the beast was dead - it hadn't had a hope of puncturing his armor and Drugo had had the sense to keep ahold of his sword when it had jumped him - but the fight had put him severely off course and shredded his map. He'd picked a direction and started walking.

Somehow, he had ended up on the side of a mountain.

The plan was obviously in shambles. But he would find the Nightmares, and-

Drugo ducked instinctively as _something_ suddenly slammed into the side of the mountain, nearly knocking him off his feet. What the hell? Was somebody firing artillery at-

There was a very large rumble, and Drugo looked up to see several dozen tons of mountain rock and dirt start to fall.

"Fu-"

* * *

Kaneki slammed into the ground with an earth-shaking thud, digging a furrow in the dirt as his wings tried to slow him down from the immense speeds he'd been travelling at.

Vinci didn't even look up from the wound he was stitching shut for the benefit of some of the apprentice medics. Granted, he didn't _need_ to, because the recipient insisted on sitting up to catch a view of the spectacle.

"Now, if your patient is uncooperative, some are tempted to resort to sedatives," he narrated calmly to the makeshift class. "Since this isn't surgery, I tend to just _knock them unconscious_ ," he hissed at the uncooperative Augment - one of the Wraiths, who had mistimed one of their little shift-things and caught a blade in the process.

The man took the hint and laid back down, but Kaneki stalked over. "Where's Six? He run off?"

"Knocked himself out for a bit in the process of pimp-slapping you into a mountain, also broke pretty much every bone in his hand doing it while nearly doing the same to his radius and ulna. I stuck the usual helpful mix of painkillers, stims, and healing ghoul-goop in him, sent him to the camp to rest up."

"What... that...oh, that little idiot…" Kaneki sighed deeply, and ran a hand through his hair. Vinci realized the ghoul was completely soaked through, every piece of clothing waterlogged. "Right, I'll go have a talk with him about what constitutes 'as hard as you can'. Also, we might own a hot spring now, the rubble I pulled myself out of was spewing water everywhere."

"Huh. Be sure to thank him for that."

"After I finish teaching him that self-preservation matters, yes."

The ghoul stalked off, and Vinci couldn't help but smirk.

Kaneki was predictable in a few very select ways, and one of them was his almost possessive desire to protect everything that was deemed both 'his' and 'not going to survive without him'. C had filled the latter category for a few weeks, needing training in how to defend himself physically, but C was basically impossible to injure permanently and trying to damage his mental state was like trying to attack a wall made of angry bees - pointless and it'd just get you killed.

Six, by contrast, was the weakest of the crew by far, completely untrained in fighting, and his mental state was, to put it bluntly, a complete shambles underneath the veneer of functionality. It would be the work of years if not decades to bring the cook to anything approaching normal. Well, by himself. With Kaneki's relentless breed of mother-henning, probably months. He'd made a semi-functional person out of C, after all.

Vinci finished his stitches, then nodded to his students. "And that's how you fix a gash. Any questions?"

One of the ex-slaves raised a hand. "What if someone loses a limb?"

"Right, I'll show you what to do with a tourniquet, then."

The Wraith whimpered.

"Hush, you big baby."

* * *

"Yup," I say cheerily. "That is a _lot_ of Sea Kings." Below the cliff I'm standing on, the large bay is home to several smaller islands, and each of them is mostly buried under a pile of bones topped by a napping Sea King. Their physical descriptions vary enormously, but all have lots and _lots_ of teeth.

"Brother, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" C asks, oddly nervous.

"Nope!" I reply, before jumping off the cliff.

Oi, scaley, got a question for you.

 _Oh for the love of the maker, what are you doing?_

I grin as I accelerate downwards, right towards the bone-pile of the single largest Sea King.

 _YOU WILL GET US BOTH KILLED!_

My eyes cross at its mental screaming, but I keep grinning. "Nope! All you've got to do is let me do whatever it is I did on the Archipelago."

 _Well, since you asked so nicely-_

I do the mental equivalent of slapping the dragon's hands away from a lever, except the lever is my brain and it controls my body. "Nope! I'm in control, scaley. Now, tell me how this works, that Sea King is getting alarmingly close."

 _...You want to try to tame your fire? Fine, brat. Try not to burn._

The Sea King looks up, and opens its mouth, clearly quite happy at having a snack literally drop in. My grin stretches wider still as I suddenly feel scales erupt from my back, spreading across my body.

My vision goes dark, and I feel a sudden distinctly _wet_ impact before I'm suddenly surrounded by pressure. Yup, being swallowed. At least I dodged the teeth…

I bite back a scream as every vein in my body suddenly _burns_ , and the pressure vanishes. Sight returns a moment later, my field of view wider than before...and the shape of a distinctly lizard-like snout pushing out in front of me. The bone pile is significantly more gory than before.

I feel hunger gnawing at me, but for the moment I can ignore it, taking in the changes. Armored scales have covered me, my hands covered in long claws, the same with my feet. A quadrupedal stance is necessary, not just because of this but because of the weight of the tendrils and wings on my back - both feel denser than before, far heavier. I open my mouth and stretch, feeling wind play over long fangs. False, obviously, part of the scaley construct protecting my head...but still part of me. I scent the air, and my tendrils rip into the rapidly cooling corpse behind me, taking a bit of the hunger's edge off.

Roars of alarm echo through the air of the harbor, the kings of the sea challenging me. I smile with both mouths at once, and my wings extend out to their full length. Mist coils around my body, picking the corpse clean, responding to my will.

I'm hungry. I need **more,** and the scent of so much is intoxicating.

My wings crack once, twice, and a spray of shards rips through the air and the water, the harbor turning crimson as I leap forwards. I _slam_ into the closest of the serpents, the impact throwing it back onto one of the outcroppings and sending shards of pulverized bone everywhere, before my seeking tendrils open its throat and drink _deep._ The mist follows, scales corroding and buckling under its presence, and I need more more **more** -

Movement, behind me. Tails lash out, movements stops, **more** meat for me.

Platform sinking. Run, leap, wings catching the air-

Fire.

The heat throws me off course, and then there's the ocean-

I think I black out for a moment, because the next coherent thought in my brain is 'ow' and I'm suddenly on top of a pile of bones. The scales, the altered vision, it's all gone. There's only a few remnant pieces that crumble into black dust as I struggle to sit up.

Oh, and there's a Sea King glaring at me with a mouth full of fire.

"Oh, fu-"

The Sea King's flames envelop me, and I squeeze my eyes shut...and then open them again. It doesn't hurt. Feels...good, actually. Huh.

 _You are, at your core, fire. This should have been expected._

Huh. You okay, scaley?

 _Your concern is not necessary. Also, do not do that again, it was most unpleasant to be forcibly merged with you._

Is _that_ what happened?

 _That, and you literally burning your reserves, brat. Stop being reckless._

You aren't the boss of me.

 _Someone has to be, your captain appears uninterested in the job and you're still standing in a literal fireball. And possibly violating several human laws about public decency._

I look down, and realize that while the fire isn't hurting me, the same can't be said for my clothing. Thank God I left my valuables and mask up on the cliff with C.

Wait. Crap, am I going to have to go back through town naked...

"Okay, you die now," I say flatly, pushing out wings - which, notably, takes actual _effort_...fuck, I haven't been this hungry in a long time.

Welp, giant buffet in front of me.

The fire peters out, and the Sea King gives me a confused look at the fact I'm not a charcoal briquette. I grin.

The next few minutes are even more violent than the previous few.

* * *

Herman had absolutely no idea how the bar fight had started, but he had no intention of losing. So, the moment chairs and bottles had started being brandished, he'd done the smart thing and grabbed the nearest thing to hand.

That so happened to be another person, but hey, what was the point of all the strength training if you didn't use it to beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker?

Gin's vocabulary was rubbing off on him, Herman reflected as he used his makeshift human flail to knock a swath of idiots to the floor.

Hell, all he'd wanted to do was drink to celebrate the two former slaves, Elric and Baskonn, who'd been elected captains of the two new vessels. And now some idiot, or idiots, wanted to disrupt that?

"Leave the forge, they said, you've been spending too much time smithing armor for the Augments, they said," he grumbled between sweeping swings of the unfortunate bastard. "Why does this always happen to me?"

"Because you leap into the nearest fight?" his improvised weapon said.

"Aren't you supposed to be unconscious by now?"

"Nah, my head's indestructible. Literally. Got thrown through a wall by that red-haired punk once, was completely fine."

Herman lifted the man up to eye level. The violet-eyed nutjob grinned back.

Yup, those were nails hammered into his brain.

"Carry on," Herman grunted, before putting the man to use again.

* * *

Inhale.

Count to four.

Exhale.

Vinci was loath to admit it, but the charlatans and conmen who claimed to have accessed the spiritual realm through meditation (or in one notable case, massive quantities of narcotics) may have had a point.

Not in how they were doing it, but in the _existence_ of a spiritual realm.

There were too many data points in favor of it to discard the idea.

First had been his counterpart, broken and remade into something inhuman and powerful beyond measure.

Second had been the rift, the howling vortex of broken reality.

Third had been the monstrous doctor, and his horde of souls chained to bones.

Perhaps it was merely an attempt by his altered eyes to process something not meant to be understood by normal people. Perhaps he had simply gone even more mad.

It mattered little, because what he had seen and begun to understand nevertheless produced useful, tangible results.

Inhale.

Count to four.

Exhale.

The spirit realm existed.

He had seen it, and through the powers of his eyes, comprehended it.

The Wraiths could step through it - for microseconds, and only with great concentration, but that was enough for them to reappear in the midst of the enemy, kill quickly, and be back again. That was all the power allotted to them by their particular breed of augmentations.

Vinci was the source material, and far more willing to experiment on his own flesh than on something that would go into his crewmates.

What he comprehended, he could copy or counter, contain or condemn. His parents and their parents and so many others...their work had been the start. Endless, unrestrained adaptation. That was the power of the King's Heart.

Inhale.

Count to four.

Exhale.

Still, this never stopped being creepy.

Inhale.

Hold.

Vinci stepped free of his body.

Astral projection was supposed to take years to master.

Vinci cheated.

He let his awareness spread through the ship, absent-mindedly taking note of the growing presence that permeated every part of _Ends Justified_ \- something old and new, hungry and dark and yet comforting.

Most of the crew were off the ship - but the few who were present burned in his awareness, like candle flames. The officers, by contrast, resembled raging bonfires. Even Six had a _presence_ to him, though his was cold and uncanny, iced-over thoughts and mentalities barely starting to thaw and live again.

The architect of said thawing was _fire_ , banked low and ready, eating away at itself endlessly. Ouroboros. It would raze or it would comfort, depending on how one approached it.

C was a ball of hunger and instinct, a white grin of fangs lunging out of the dark. Vinci stayed clear - plunging into those depths was a project for a psychologist, not a surgeon. The Oni clustered close, bonds flickering between them and the true ghouls...and a few fragile links to Six as well.

And then there was the presence approaching his body.

Kaneki was fire, and this was too, but where the ghoul's flames were ready to spring up at the slightest moment, this one's was beginning to turn to a different purpose, burning away impurities to forge something new. At its back, a second flame pulsed with the echo of stolen souls.

Vinci leapt back into his body as the door to his lab slammed open.

"Herman."

"Captain," the blacksmith growled.

"What's the problem?"

In answer, Herman pointed at his right eye.

The one Vinci had cloned a replacement for.

The one that was currently a solid black.

"Huh," Vinci said.

"I can _see through my own skull_ , captain. What the fuck did you do?"

In the distance, Vinci heard Kaneki scream the words 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE' and start cackling hysterically.

"Honestly, I have no idea what that's doing. As a man of science, I do not hypothesize this lightly, but...given the giant hunk of cursed metal you're lugging around, I'd bet your eye socket's haunted or something. Can it see through cloth?"

Herman paused, then went crimson. "Yes…"

"Right. Put on an eyepatch again, nobody'll notice and you're now impossible to sneak up on. Just let me know if the voices in your head get louder or something."

Herman gaped.

"Any other problems?" Vinci asked. "Because if not, I really should get around to shoving a couple Devil Fruits into our new captains. Would be a shame if we lost them because they didn't have a power to back them up."

"I'm just gonna...go back to the forge," Herman said cautiously.

"Have fun!"

* * *

Six was uncertain where the walls surrounding the hot spring, or the wash stations, or in fact any of the paraphernalia associated with most depictions of hot springs had come from. It was extremely odd, especially given that these springs had not existed until a day ago.

Perhaps the Laws of the Universe declared that hot springs must come with all of those things, and therefore they had appeared, even though nobody was around to build them. Perhaps an enterprising group of individuals had constructed everything before suddenly falling prey to one of the numerous dangers that allegedly lurked in the forest. Or perhaps the Drunkeys - that odd, apparently intelligent, alcohol-making tribe of local simians - had built it.

In any case, the whole thing had been deserted and the entire Nightmare crew had transparently not cared, so it was irrelevant.

The springs themselves had formed dozens of rocky pools of varying sizes, scattered across the slope of the mountain, and after washing up the three-hundred-strong crew had claimed almost all of them, save for those at the top where the water was near-boiling in temperature. Six, for his part, elected to observe for a moment.

The officers and strongest fighters, including the newly-captainized Baskonn and Elric, had claimed one of the larger pools for themselves, and were obviously enjoying themselves. Even Gin was laughing, albeit intermittently. But they were missing someone.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, the Dragon pushed aside the short curtain that separated the changing areas and the bathing areas. He was wearing a larger towel than most of the other Nightmares, and it was pulled up rather far on his torso, covering most of a large design drawn in black ink. The symbol, what looked something like a tree, was further obscured by Kaneki's arms, crossed tightly and hugged close to his body. A body which Six thought looked rather aesthetic. He didn't quite understand why some people were ashamed of what they looked like underneath their clothes; underneath their skin they were all the same meat. Still, if the Dragon's partly grumpy, partly uncomfortable shifting was indicative, then Kaneki might be one such individual, uncomfortable in his own skin. It seemed absurd to even consider, that the Dragon that claimed all it deemed precious as part of its hoard _could_ be uncomfortable with himself, but Six could see the tension in every muscle as Kaneki made his way up past the pools and sat on the edge of one of the highest, dipping his toes in the boiling water. After a moment, he slid into the water, discarding the towel quickly and then sinking down into the water until little more than his eyes and nose were visible. That one glimpse had given Six a good look at the tattoo - no, judging from the scarring, it was a brand, though what sort of brand could remain in spite of the Dragon's powers of recovery Six did not know. An alchemist's tree, sinking its roots across his abdomen.

Six blinked, uncertain of the sensation currently tingling down his spine, and assessed, gaze set firmly on the Dragon's face.

Eventually, a small tick mark appeared on Kaneki's forehead and he cracked an eye, looking back at Six.

"Did you need something?" he asked, grimacing faintly.

Six shook his head. "I gather that your.. brand, while rather artistic, is a source of some embarrassment due to the attention it draws. In order to avoid this, I decided it would be less offensive if I looked at some other part of you. Traditional social mores would suggest that indeed, much of your anatomy is not a proper subject for observation in a communal setting such as a hotspring. Your eyes and face present an inoffensive alternative."

Kaneki reddened slightly from the hot water and sunk a little deeper, until his mouth was only barely above the waterline.

"Why do you have to look at me at all?"

Six's fingers twitched slightly. "I find your appearance... aesthetic. I did not meant to trouble you with my attention."

The Dragon reddened a little more, closing his eyes. Perhaps even boiling water could overheat him?

"You mean you like the way I look?"

Six hesitated before replying. "I... yes, I suppose. Your figure is- that is to say, your proportions indicate a high level of physical strength and endurance, as your musculature is exquisitely sculpted and shows a lot of core development. Your skin holds the luster of polished ivory, while your eyes are the color of the deep sky on a cloudless day. Or- well, one might describe your appearance in such a way."

Kaneki had turned so red that Six was briefly concerned for his health, but surely mere hot water was insufficient to trouble the Dragon so.

After a few moments, the ghoul let out a breath, and reopened his eyes, red on black, shot through with veins. "You describe everyone like that, or am I somehow special?"

"You are the Dragon. Of course you are special." Six paused. "This is true of all of the crew, even though in some cases the term 'special' could be expressed in a derogatory fashion."

Kaneki snorted. "Yeah, right." He pushed himself back up a little, shoulders breaching the waterline, before he leaned on the edge of the pool and pointed down at where the officers were gathered. "So, try it," he said. "What about Lauren?"

Six wracked his brains as he looked at the Gunner.

"...Her breasts are very nice, as are her tattoos." He supposed.

Kaneki fell backwards into the pool. "K...kyakahahahahahaha! Never change, Six."

"That would require me to cease being your cook, and would violate my purpose, so I will not."

"And everyone else?" Kaneki prompted with a slight smile.

Six hypothesized that Kaneki was seeking to make him feel awkward as a means of deflection. If so, he would indulge.

"Of the officers and best fighters? Vinci embodies a physical ideal above all the others. In proportion, in construction, in the color of his skin and the weight of his body, there is no flaw save that which he permits, and even those flaws are made flawless by gracing him."

Kaneki snickered, and Six continued.

"Jack is as Atlas, his shoulders broad enough to carry mountains. His flesh is like oak, vital and warm, his eyes are like sapphire, clear and cool."

"Herman is the pillar of heaven, implacable and resolute, but his laugh is as joyous as the first breath of spring. Within his gaze dwells burning copper, within his shadow dwells Fenrir."

Kaneki's shoulders started shaking.

"Gin is a serpent, patient and vengeful. His eyes are the black pits of hell to which he consigns the unworthy. In the steam his skin glimmers like andulsite, but beneath lie muscles stronger than steel."

"C is the flame that burns in his eyes, mercurial and hungry, a light in the dark, brightshining. He is blessed with clarity of purpose and refinement of form."

"Ostavila...is very well built?" Six paused. "She has an excellent waist to hip ratio." Yes. That sounded correct.

Kaneki was wheezing, flat on his back in the pool. Six struck. Metaphorically.

"What caused your brand?" he asked.

Kaneki stopped laughing, and his smile became noticeably more brittle. "Damn, Six...warn a guy before you give him emotional whiplash," he said nervously. "You really want to know?"

"Talking about traumatic events is supposed to be healing."

"That mean one day I'm going to hear about your experiences as part of your last crew?"

"That was not traumatic." Six paused. While his place was not to question the crew or contradict them…Kaneki seemed to enjoy minor conflict. Whether physical, or verbal. Perhaps it was a form of keeping his skills sharp for more intense battle. In any case, Six would provide said minor conflict. "And you are exhibiting signs of avoidance," he said evenly.

Kaneki huffed, leaning back against the rim of his pool. "Fine, then. The same bastard who put me on this world decided a brand was a good idea. Probably some fucked-up way of reminding me he still has his hooks in me. Had, actually. Captain sent him packing." His eyes went distant for a moment. "Good fucking riddance," he finally snarled.

Oh. "I am...sorry, your father treated you that way," Six said, after some moments.

He was not prepared for Kaneki to slip and fall off the side of the pool, only to resurface thrashing and sputtering. The ghoul held on to the edge of the spring with a death grip as he coughed up water, before giving Six a look. "What the heck made you think it was my dad?"

"You said it was the person who put you on this world. Physical differences from the base human form aside, you do not appear to be some form of laboratory experiment, as you are far more intelligent, and also lack the distinguishing sorts of marks of that kind of work. Therefore, you were presumably born."

"Shit, did nobody tell...wait. OI, VINCI!"

"WHAT?"

"WE FORGOT TO TELL THE REST OF THE CREW THE THING!"

"RIGHT! KANEKI'S FROM ANOTHER PLANET WHERE OUR WORLD IS WRITTEN ABOUT AS FICTION!"

There was a moment of silence from all three hundred or so assembled Nightmares.

The hundred veterans shrugged, and went back to what they were doing.

The new recruits started yelling, and the Unbound Physician started laughing.

Then there was a very large bang from the direction of the changing rooms, and Pravilno, somewhat battered, flew through the doors, skidding to a halt just short of the pools. The bandaged man groaned, getting to his feet.

"The fucking monkeys stole our shit!" he shouted.

Kaneki's expression turned murderous. "Nope," he said, very quietly. "I am _not_ running through town naked _again._ I'll be back in a second, Six, I have to go commit several acts of unspeakable violence against sapient simians."

There was a hooting noise from the woods, and a bundle of clothing came hurtling out from the trees on a ballistic arc towards Kaneki. Six caught the bundle before it could fall into the pool. Unsurprisingly, it consisted of the Dragon's clothing and personal effects. He placed it on the side of the pool, on a dry section of rock.

Kaneki nodded, and sank back into the pool. "Well, that's all right then."

"HELP THE REST OF US, BASTARD!" came the unified shout from all three hundred Nightmares.

"Nah, go threaten the Drunkeys yourselves!" Kaneki shouted back, laughing. "If you can't put the fear of God into them, I sure as hell need to step up the training schedule."

There was a momentary pause as the Nightmares digested exactly what _intense_ training with Kaneki would entail, and weighed it against the risk of fighting a tribe of large, intelligent, vicious simians while naked.

It was immediately followed by a small army of nude men and women charging out of the hot springs and into the woods, leaving Six and Kaneki alone.

Six picked at the sleeves of his hoodie, suddenly grateful that he had not intended to bathe and thus hadn't left any of his personal effects behind to be stolen. He doubted he was intimidating enough to retrieve them. The heat, though, was growing oppressive. He removed the garment.

"Hmph. Looks like we match," Kaneki said lazily, stretching slightly in the boiling water of his pool.

Six looked down, considered the scar on his chest where the late captain had cut him open to examine him, and nodded.

"Memories for that like I've got for mine?" Kaneki asked.

Six nodded again.

"Well, fuck 'em. You're here now, still alive, and _he's_ not. That's what matters."

The Dragon, affirming that Six was _his_ again. As if he could be anything else. The very thought was absurd, to even consider being anything other than the cook. Though, if Kaneki had been brought to this world...had he always been the Dragon? Had Six always been the- - _THEREWASNOTHINGTHEREISNOTHINGYOUWERENOTHING-_

Six blinked, and realized he was flat on his back, and the Dragon was practically on top of him.

"Oh good, you're awake, shit Six you scared the hell out of me," Kaneki said, moving himself away. "What the hell was that? You just froze up and tipped forward, nearly fell into the pool. Did I cause-"

"No," Six said quickly. "No. I had...I had a wrong thought. I am still _wrong_ sometimes, and I-"

"A wrong _thought?_ " Kaneki said, tone suddenly dangerous, and Six nodded.

It was time for punishment, because Six had broken a Law, had thought wrongly, and now the Dragon would, in the Bosun's absence, dispense consequence for Six's failure-

"Six...there's nothing wrong with thinking," Kaneki said quietly. "You can't _have_ thoughts that are wrong. Bad ideas, sure, but just thinking something isn't inherently a crime."

"It's...not?" Six's mind strained, reaching for something to grasp on to, to keep himself stable.

Ask questions, the Captain had told him. So he did.

"Then why was I punished, before?" he asked, voice so low he barely heard it.

"Because some people are scum who can't stand the thought of those with free minds. So they bend and break them, until those people are little more than tools. But you're more than that. Nobody can be reduced to cogs in a machine, not while they're still alive. So don't you _dare_ think of yourself as only a tool, Six." The Dragon's eyes were wide, black creeping into the sclerae, and Six…

Six…

He…

"If not a tool...then what am I?" he asked, clinging to the question, to the order.

"You. There is one rule for pirates, for demons, and for monsters. **Do as thou wilt.** So what do you want?"

Want…

"For myself?" The thought was alien, almost _wrong_ , but the Dragon seemed to think it was natural for Six to want things, for anyone to want things, and so…

"I... I do not know. I want... to be useful, to have purpose. I... I _like_ being the Cook. Can I still be the Cook if I want other things?"

Kaneki chuckled. "You can want more than one thing at once, Six. Yes."

"Then...let me the Cook...and let me find out everything I _do_ want."

"Then I'll help you find that out," the Dragon said, and the certainty of that statement, as Kaneki laid out a goal to follow and his intent to pursue it, felt like having a solid deck under Six's feet once more.

"Together?" Six asked.

"Together," Kaneki answered.


	60. Chapter 83

Tupan Trece was more than a little ticked off.

He had spent three days trying to hunt down the Nightmares, ever since his younger brother had dug himself out from under the literal mountain that had fallen on him. And the youngest had recovered from being trampled.

At this point, it was less a matter of the crew's honor, and more a personal vendetta. They'd fucked with his brothers, and so they'd pay for their -

" _BAAAAA!"_

That was a very large goat.

* * *

"Okay," I say calmly despite my rapidly forming headache. "Just tell me: _why_ do you have a building-sized Satan-goat?"

Said Satan-goat, a black-furred creature with six horns, flaming red eyes, and a forked tail, baa's calmly and slams a hoof into the ground.

The Oni go into a huddle for a moment. There' a great deal of muffled arguing, and I think I see money change hands, but eventually Charny Dui gets shoved out of the huddle. The blue-haired dandy looks actually nervous. "So, remember how the Captain sent us to therapy, Boss?"

I nod.

"Well, she said that the best way to deal with things was exposure to what had caused our fear. And, no offense, but you...kind of murdered all the goats in town. So the only thing sufficiently goaty was going to have to be some kind of giant goat. So we all went out into the woods. And now, well, behold the Lord of Goats."

"Baaaa."

"Hush."

"Honestly I'm surprised you didn't kill it," I remark blankly, vaguely realizing that this is probably how Jack feels all the time.

"Kill this little cutie? Why? Look at it's adorable little face."

There are many things that could be said about the Lord of Goats's face. 'Adorable' and 'little' are not among them.

"Okay, but why bring it to the ship?"

"Well, if we just gave it to Jack after the last few weeks he's had he might murder us, have an aneurysm, or both. So we figured you or the Captain would know what to do with it."

Deep breaths, Kaneki.

"You do realize we can't fit it on any of the ships? At all? And I'm pretty sure even Vinci doesn't want to dissect it. No offense, Goaty."

"Baaaa."

There's a moment of silence, followed immediately by the Oni going into another huddle. This time, Pamca's the one who gets shoved out.

"...No," he finally answered.

"Right. Let the poor creature go. I honestly don't care what it does so long as you're not responsible for it."

The Lord of Goats doesn't even wait for the Oni to say anything - instead it bolts down the street at full speed, crushing a cabbage cart under hoof as it does so. Nobody says a word.

Honestly, this wasn't even in the top ten for the weirdest shit that's gone down during our stay.

* * *

Law was woken up by someone knocking on the door to the _Polar Tang's_ entrance. He practically rolled out of bed, drawing Kikoku on reflex, before registering that no, they weren't under attack, at least not yet. He sheathed the cursed blade, pulled on a hoodie and sweatpants, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes opened the door.

There was a baby on his fucking doorstep.

There was also a note with the baby.

 _Dear Surgeon of Death,_

 _My most sincere apologies, my captain is an idiot who really shouldn't be left unsupervised with blood samples. Congratulations, you now have a mini-me. At least this one isn't a ghoul, because even Vinci can learn from his mistakes and knows that if he made a_ third _ghoul I would quickly stop believing his protests about the creation of sentient beings being an inexplicable accident and probably rip his head off._

 _Okay, that's a little unfair, I'm 90% sure this was actually an accident, but the point stands that Vinci is no longer allowed access to Supernova blood samples. He'll be told when he wakes up, I kind of kicked him halfway through the ship, but Jack reinforced the top deck after last time so he sort of bounced off and crashed all the way back down into the lab._

 _Normally I wouldn't send a kid your way, especially with your life, but honestly I figure that out of everyone in this town you're probably the single most qualified and more importantly_ sane _person I know for taking care of a kid. Not that that's a high bar to clear, but whatever._

 _Good luck._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Yoshimura Kaneki_

 _First Mate of the Nightmare Pirates_

 _P.S._

 _Doflamingo's a Celestial Dragon whose family got kicked out for being too nice. He, on the other hand, is cut from the same cloth as those fat bastards. Watch your ass, and know that he has more than enough pull with the World Government to pull some incredible bullshit._

 _P.P.S._

 _Whitebeard's got a heart condition, if you get to the New World before he kicks the bucket offering to treat that will probably earn you enough brownie points to kill Doffy and dodge any consequences from the other Emperors._

Law took a very deep breath, then a second.

Then he picked up the basket, closed the door very carefully behind him, and went off to find Bepo.

He had some calls to make in the morning.

* * *

Herman very, very badly wanted to burst out laughing at Jack's expression as the massive dog at the other end of the chessboard carefully slid a bishop into place, and woofed softly.

He didn't, though. Jack would probably snap, and then they'd need to find a new bosun, and he was pretty sure if anyone tried to stick Gin with the job they'd get a vibration-assisted tonfa to the balls. The little bastard had gotten a lot more vicious in his fights recently, and the whole thing hadn't been helped by the fact he'd figured out how to vibrate throwing knives enough to keep them doing their thing after he threw them, or the even heavier weights he'd attached to the ends of his tonfas.

Jack looked down at the chessboard, looked back at the dog, and then slowly buried his face in his hands. "Whyyyy…" he moaned softly.

"Welp, he lost, everyone pay up," Herman demanded. The dozen or so members of the crew - most of whom had lost previously and really should've known better - began handing him cash.

He had no idea what the Captain had been feeding the three hounds, but honestly he had no complaints - intelligent animals were always a plus.

* * *

"-in recognition of services rendered to this city, namely the extermination of the Sea Kings that have infested our shores and harassed merchant shipping for years on end, we hereby present to you the Keys to the City."

Revenge was sweet, in Jack's opinion.

It hadn't even taken that much effort. Hell, the merchant he'd talked to had offered to _pay_ him for the information that the bay on the far side of the island was no clear of Sea Kings. Jack had turned it down in favor of said merchant doing some business with the rapidly growing Freetown (yes, the ex-slaves had named it that, and now thanks to the word about the other port spreading there was a rapidly growing Freeport in said harbor as well), which solved a couple of problems quite neatly vis-a-vis the town's long-term viability.

The _real_ prize, though, had come about when Jack had told the merchant exactly _who_ was responsible, just so happening to fail to mention Kaneki's entirely selfish reasons for becoming the Scourge of All Sea Kings and making the ghoul sound like a selfless, noble hero.

Kaneki's expression as he was presented with the ceremonial over-large key in front of a cheering crowd of hundreds was something he would treasure. The only real problem was that the look of blank, half-terrified confusion had vanished too quickly for Jack to get out a Vision Dial. But Jack had an extremely good memory...and a couple dozen crewmen who found the situation just as hilarious who had Vision Dials of their own.

Yes, revenge was sweet indeed. Sweeter still when it punched your crewmates right in their unjustified neuroses.

* * *

"When the hell did your eyes become green again?" Kaneki asked.

"Don't you have more important things to worry about?" Vinci replied as he hacked another bundle of tentacles apart, mentally running through what had gone wrong with this particular attempt at cloning Sea King flesh and blood. Probably the addition of cephalopod DNA.

"Nah, the novelty of fighting whatever comes out of your lab wore off a while ago," the ghoul replied, relieving the mass of tentacles of a significant portion of said mass. There was a screeching noise from within the lab. "So, why have your eyes gone back to normal? Finally run out of juice?"

"Kaneki, you do realize I can shapeshift, right?"

"News to me, if you could do that I'd figure you'd get rid of all the horrible scarring."

Vinci glared at the ghoul, an expression that had to be interrupted as he ducked a swinging, mouth-encrusted tentacle. He cut the thing off as it passed over his head, and let it slam into the wall of the hold, still thrashing.

"The scars are an aesthetic choice. Besides, nobody complains about them. Especially not-"

"Finish that sentence and I will rip off your ability to perform such conquests," Kaneki said in a rapid, high-pitched voice.

Vinci laughed. "Fine, fine. But my point stands. I decided that golden eyes with creepy symbology on the irises was a little much, so I figured, why not switch back to something a bit more normal?"

"Aren't you lucky," the ghoul grumbled, grabbing another tendril and ripping it off. More screeching came from within the lab, and more blood splattered the floor.

"What, you want shapeshifting too?" Vinci asked.

"Nah, but I'd appreciate the ability to remove the damn brand, or have a bit more control over my eyes." The ghoul shrugged. "Besides, it'd probably help with other things."

"Yeah, the reason you have such poor luck is you're a prickly bastard with an aura of doom and gloom that might actually be visible in the right light," Vinci said, kicking away another writhing tentacle. He made a mental note to introduce Kaneki to that albino captain he'd met somewhere in between the third and fourth bottles of 400-proof whiskey. _That_ guy would give his self-hating first mate a run for his money in an emo-off, what with the overdramatic ridiculousness about the 'Box not judging, it just hates'. "And hell, even then, you've still got Six. If you asked-"

"For fuck's sake Vinci, I'm not talking about sex," the ghoul said, absent-mindedly manifesting a wing and firing a barrage of shards into the bulk of the mutant creature. "I _meant_ that if I could shapeshift it'd probably be a real help with disguises. I'd like to be able to show my face somewhere without having to worry about civilians panicking. Oh, and for the record, Six is barking up the wrong tree, but I don't have the heart to tell him that."

The tentacled thing shuddered, and its component parts suddenly flopped to the floor.

"So," Vinci said. "Either the massive blood loss finally kicked in, or this thing was weak to awkward conversations. And the wrong tree…?"

The ghoul glared at him. "You're all prey. Back of my mind, that's _always_ there, more so since I finally stopped repressing it. _That's_ the kind of wrong tree I'm talking about."

"Eh, fair enough, dahahaha," Vinci said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'll leave you be on the subject from now on. Can't promise the same of the rest of the crew, though, it's not like Six is subtle. Or that you're exactly stone-faced when it comes to the subject."

"That's my problem to worry about," Kaneki said. "Now, let's deal with this damn thing. It tastes like shit, by the by, so I don't think you've succeeded."

"A pity. Oh, well, there's always next attempt."

* * *

Well, Gin decided as he hurtled through the air, at least the poor bastards on this crew were actually decent fighters now.

He twisted just in time to dodge a paint-filled dummy round from one of the immense hand-cannons most of the Wolves carried (well, all the ones who'd been Steel Shields originally, were now calling themselves Huscarls, and who preferred to live up to the first moniker by lugging around two-inch-thick slabs of metal to serve as shields alongside said hand-cannons). He kicked himself downward, slamming into the back of an unfortunate Wolf and bringing his tonfas down on the Augment's head. The eight-foot-high slab of engineered muscle and bulletproof steel plate hit the ground hard, and Gin Shaved forwards back towards the rest of the seven-man group - five Wolves, a Basilisk, and a Wraith - as quickly as he could. The Wraith flickered out of range again, the long grey cloak the man wore billowing ominously, but the Wolf next to him had to take the brunt of Gin's blow on his shield. One blow, two, three, and the man's guard was forced open. Gin pushed his power into the weights of the tonfa in his left hand, and swung. " _Exorcism!"_

The ground around the armored soldier cracked, and the Wolf fell to one knee, then faceplanted into the dirt..

Four Wolves. One Basilisk, one Wraith.

Gin wasn't given a moment to rest, though, as the remaining four Wolves closed in with swinging blades. He spun back around, deflected two swords, dodged an axe, and threw himself just out of range of a long knife.

Then a hail of blunted crossbow bolts and dummy bullets came hurtling at his back, while he was out of position...and lacked the skill at Iron Body to withstand all of that. So he didn't try. Instead, while one tonfa spun and blocked another pair of sword strokes, he dropped the other, charging up and hurling a knife at the fusillade. It hit the first of the paint rounds, and the ensuing explosion scattered the barrage for just long enough that Gin could get free of the Wolves and go for the snipers, snatching up his falling weapon on the way. The Wraith dodged again, but the Basilisk wasn't capable of the same bullshit as his fellow, and the flak-jacket-wearing sniper took a tonfa cannonball to the chest, putting him out of the fight.

One Wraith. Four Wolves.

Gin spun on his heel for what felt like the hundredth time in the small eternity that had been this sparring match, and deflected one of the hand-cannon rounds as the Wolves _finally_ realized that charging in wasn't going to cut it. The impact nearly jarred the tonfa out of his hand, and he ducked behind a convenient tree to dodge the rest of the barrage.

Right. This wasn't working. Time to switch tactics.

The tree - some century-old monster of an oak - shook as dummy rounds slammed into it. Gin gathered his breath, checked his gear, and threw.

One vibrating knife slammed into the dirt, throwing an enormous cloud of dust into the air. The oncoming fire slackened as the Wolves and the remaining Basilisk were forced to spread the suppression out.

Which meant when a pair of flash grenades came hurtling out of the dust cloud, they were utterly unprepared.

Gin was moving before the light from the two jury-rigged Flash Dials had faded, leaping over the Wolves - who had resorted to forming a shield wall and blind-firing over it - and landing directly in front of the Wraith, who was rubbing at his eyes, too blinded to do his weird step-away thing.

Gin kicked him in the nuts, just on general principle, then Shaved sideways to dodge a couple of rounds from the last Basilisk. All the sniper's attack accomplished was earning him a larger-than-usual lump on his head as Gin Shaved forwards and smacked him in the face.

Now there were just the Wolves, who had by now turned again and were charging back into melee range. Gin sighed, and spun his tonfa.

Without being interrupted constantly, now he could do...this. The spinning of the tonfa accelerated even faster, a high-pitched whine building up.

" _Resonant Frequency: Air. Heavenquake."_

The air _cracked_ , and a shockwave blasted the charging Wolves off their feet. The white-armored fighters hit the ground hard, and didn't get back up. Gin shook out his hand - the backlash from unleashing that _hurt_ \- and nodded. "Right. Good job, everyone. You lasted all five minutes. Once you can stand up, go see the Captain."

A chorus of groans answered him.

Gin turned away from the semi-conscious crewmen and walked away, lighting a cigarette and thinking.

He wasn't the toughest officer - that little honor went to Kaneki - but he was one of the better fighters. He could beat the two rookie Devil Fruit users and both of the new captains, and fight Herman and Lauren to a draw.

And these guys had managed to make him break a sweat.

He grinned.

The Marines would never know what hit them.

* * *

Herman watched as the larger of the two new vessels slid into the water...and also watched the entire crowd around him, including the other officers.

Having perfect, three-hundred-sixty degree vision was...very hard to get used to. At least he'd figured out how to turn it off, otherwise he'd be unable to sleep.

But it was pretty useful.

The ships were odd-looking things, honestly. No gunports, and they were slimmer as a result of that, built to cut through the water. Their armament was something Lauren had arranged _personally._ On the smaller ship, the _Necessary Means_ , that meant a single turret with two heavy guns fore, and another aft, both. On its far larger cousin, the _Unbroken Hope_ , it meant two three-gun turrets front, two aft. Both ships had plenty of smaller guns on their built-up decks, too, and honestly Herman pitied anyone who faced their broadside. The machine guns Lauren had built alone would be a terror for any crew.

He was honestly fairly surprised Vinci hadn't handed over captaincy of the _Ends_ to one of the new captains and taken the _Hope_ himself as the new flagship. The _Ends_ was only a little larger than the _Means_ and utterly dwarfed by the _Hope_ , and its armament seemed pitiful...but, then again, the armament wasn't what made the Nightmares deadly. It was the crew.

He hoped Baskonn and Elric would manage their own crews half as well. They had help from the cadres of experienced Nightmares that'd serve as the hard core of veterans to the largely ex-slave crews of both new vessels, but still...they were the only ones on their crews with Devil Fruits, and he hoped that wouldn't be the state of affairs for long. Crews with only one trick to them wouldn't last on the Line, that much was obvious by now, and while Baskonn's Drip-Drip Fruit gave him all sorts of weird ink abilities, Elric's Wildebeest one was pretty much a one-trick pony, like most Zoans.

Well, the fact that each of them had a Nightmare doctor and the facilities to make plenty of new Augments would help them, at least. The Captain seemed to be trying to avoid the guy who'd done all the surgeries the first go around, so it'd be slow going for the ex-slaves...but if they got a couple guys trained in the necessary tasks it'd go a lot quicker.

"Well, Captain?" he asked, as Vinci stared at the ships starting their first circuit of the island.

Vinci smiled, and for once, it wasn't terrifying.

"The first ships of a new age," he said simply. "Soon enough, we'll see what they're capable of."

* * *

Lauren didn't like kids.

Okay, no, that was unfair. Kids were usually alright, when they made good decisions.

Kids who decided to wander off into the woods, on the other hand, she was allowed not to like. Especially when:

\- Said woods was home to gigantic predators of all sorts, including bears the size of houses

\- The kids hadn't _told_ anyone where they were going, meaning they'd had hours to wander off before anyone had noticed they were gone

\- And the only Nightmares available to help in the search were her and the dozen Wraiths who'd been practicing their whole freaky teleport thing. AKA, the scariest people that weren't ghouls and Lauren herself.

She really hoped the brats hadn't gotten themselves eaten…

Jackal and Casull shifted on her hips as she leapt through the trees, her eyes missing nothing in the forest below. The twin pistols were her replacement for her old, much-abused carbines, and a personal project in how much death-dealing she could pack into a pistol-sized frame. Turns out, quite a lot once you figured out the right bullet construction. Cost a small fortune and were difficult as hell to manufacture, even for her, but the mix of high explosive, incendiaries, and armor-piercing quality was just too good to turn down. They'd bring down anything that lived in these woods, that much she knew.

The Wraiths weren't quite as well equipped, but at least her automatic crossbow design had convinced them to finally stop using longbows, and they had explosive-tipped bolts for anything really nasty. Also quite literally all the poisons, after she'd had a night free and brewed up a _truly_ nasty stock of chemical disaster. They'd be fine. She was worried about the kids.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she suddenly heard screaming from a nearby cave, followed by a bestial roar.

Great.

Lauren dropped from her perch, taking in the scene in front of her in an instant.

Kids, in a cave, freaking out.

Bear, size of a house, pissed off and about to eat kids.

Lauren's hands blurred into motion.

Casull cracked, and the bear staggered as a crater was punched into its shoulder. The creature turned to face her, roaring even louder.

Jackal THOOMed, and the bear's eyes crossed as they attempted to look at the meter-wide hole between its eyes. The creature's body shook the earth as it fell..

"Hey, you brats alright?" she shouted, walking towards the huddled group of kids.

In response, she was swarmed by crying children.

"There were monsters!"

"One had really scary eyes, like Mr. Butcher!"

"We ran away and then we got lost!"

Lauren sighed, and hoisted the nearest kid up on one shoulder before rooting through her coat and pulling out a flare gun. The bright red projectile burst through the canopy overhead with ease.

A one and a two…

Suddenly the woods around her was filled with Wraiths.

"Right, brats," Lauren said. "We're going to move quick, you've been gone long enough already. Wraiths, each of you carry one. And no teleporting!"

Might as well practice Shave a bit more. Get something useful out of this time.

* * *

Cooking was simple.

Ingredients, time, and the application of heat at the right intensity. The specifics varied, but there was always a plan.

In addition to this, there were countless small improvements one could make to a given dish, given time and experimentation.

It was why Six enjoyed cooking, beyond the simple fact that it was his role. It was...soothing.

"Wait a second, is that Sea King?"

Ah. Herman. Six didn't look up from the steak he was cooking. "Correct. I managed to salvage some from Kaneki's…"

"Pest control campaign?" the Blacksmith suggested.

Six nodded.

"Not much."

"There was not much left. The Dragon was commendably thorough, and most of the remains the Unbound Physician has already claimed. This is for Kaneki and C."

"Huh?"

"C has never, to my knowledge, eaten actual food that was not alive and screaming. And Kaneki was formerly human. Both would benefit from actual cooked food. Therefore, Sea King flank steak."

"Ohhh." The Blacksmith nodded, leaning against one of the kitchen's counters and grabbing a bag of jerky. "Makes sense. Need a hand?"

"No, I can manage."

Rare for C, who had grown on bloody meat. Medium for Kaneki, who would remember better what it meant. Rosemary and sage, salt and garlic.

"Damn, this is good jerky."

Oh dear.

"That is not beef, Blacksmith."

"Yeah, tastes more like... _oh._ " Six did not need to look to see Herman's stricken expression. "I'm...going to go barf now."

"Please do not get it all over the kitchen."

The door to the kitchen closed behind Herman as he bolted, and for a moment Six was alone. He set C's steak aside as it finished cooking, covering the plate to keep it warm.

The door creaked open again.

"You're _still_ cooking?" Kaneki said. "Thought dinner was finished."

Six nodded, and set out Kaneki's steak. "For the crew, yes, but you and C do not eat with the others." He looked the Dragon in the eye. "I understand why, but it is my duty as cook to feed everyone actual food. I thought Sea King would make a useful starting point." He handed Kaneki the plate, and a fork. "Eat."

Six had never seen someone devour steak so quickly.

Kaneki set the empty plate back down with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. It's...it's been a while. Thank you, Six."

"I'm glad you like it. Would you mind taking the other plate to C?"

"Once I figure out where he wandered off to, sure. With our luck he probably got on board another ship and ended up halfway to Raftel by now." Kaneki paused, looking Six over. An odd expression crossed his face. "Six, I-"

The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges, and the Unbound Physician strode in, murder in every inch of his body. Six froze, and Kaneki whirled, facing Vinci.

The Captain tossed a bloodied piece of paper onto the counter. Kaneki sniffed the air.

"Blood and oil. I know that scent. _Claire_ ," the ghoul breathed, going pale. He looked at Vinci. "Where?"

"Gave directions. One of the mountaintops. Get everyone. It's either a trap or a demonstration, and either way I want to find who's responsible. Courier dropped it off. There was a severed finger inside."

Six slipped around Kaneki.

There was writing on the piece of paper. A dark, dark brown, almost black. Blood.

 _THE HIGHEST PEAK._

 _COME AND SEE._

"Whoever did this," Six said carefully, "is very dangerous."

Vinci's expression did not change. "And we're worse."

* * *

C nearly missed the first scent of blood.

This was not because it was a weak trail.

It was because the accumulated scent of _hate_ emanating from the veterans and officers of the crew nearly drowned out the tang of iron with its own musk.

The new recruits, ex-slaves and wharf rats and bitter old salts, they followed in that wake, uncertain. Cautious. They did not know.

So many crews had died at the Archipelago. Two had left.

If that number was to be reduced to one, those responsible would face a reckoning.

Brother had taught them all more than simply how to kill, after all. He'd taught them his greed, too.

The Gear Pirates were _theirs._

The scent of blood grew stronger as they marched up the hill, following the path that curved around the mountainside. By the time they were halfway up, it overwhelmed the smell of hate entirely.

Nobody broke stride. Not the Wolves in their armor, not the Basilisks in their flak jackets, not the cloaked Wraiths or the dapper Fae. Not the hundreds of unaugmented humans. Not the Oni. Not the Devil Fruit users. Not the Captain. And not Brother.

They walked, knowing and dreading what they would find.

All too soon, they did.

The path had been freshly cut through the forest that covered most of the mountain. And at the very top of the mountain, part of the peak had been carved away.

Forty-four crosses, gleaming steel, had been erected.

Each held a body, still living, horrendously tortured.

C stood aside as the medics rushed forwards, the Captain himself rushing to the centermost cross which held Claire. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

The sounds still intruded.

"Can't find a pulse-"

"Dammit, open the kit, this'll get infected if-"

"Claire? Stay with me, damn it-"

"Losing him, we're-"

"Don't you fucking dare you shit bastard, I'll-"

Why? Why did this hurt? This wasn't anger, this wasn't the urge to slaughter those responsible for touching what was his. Why did it-

Screams wiped all thought away, and C's eyes snapped open just in time to see Claire - Claire, who was little more than bloody tatters held together by her own cogs and gears - stand up, the screams stopping. Her eyes glowed bronze for a single second, and the ruins of her face drew up into an expression that might have been a smiled. The earth shook, and C stumbled, barely keeping his footing, as the blood-streaked crosses suddenly sprouted gears and cogs and clock hands, and the forty-three members of the Gear Pirates arched their backs and howled in unison as the same happened to them, machinery papering over their countless injuries.

As one, the screams stopped, the Gears dropped back down, and Claire...Claire fell.

"A pulse, it's steady but…"

"Shit, he's going to be-"

"Captain? Do you…"

Vinci stood, his hands spattered with blood and oil, gazing on Claire's still body.

He shook his head. "She's gone. Managed to tell me what..." He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment.

There was silence on the mountainside.

The Captain looked at each of them, his gaze sweeping the crew. His eyes were empty. "Send word to the other captains. All of them, every pirate ruler in the city. They'll want to be a part of this reckoning as well."

He smiled, a soft, mild expression that made C's body go cold.

"On the morrow, we sail for Tartarus. And when we reach it...we will take the head of Eustass Kid."


	61. From the Decks of the World 2

_They attacked at dusk._

 _They came, running, crawling, or staggering over the bodies of their dead._

 _Once, cannon fire would have met them, but the ammunition for those had run out at last yesterday. Now only rifle fire met the oncoming horde, and though the enemy was only human, they rushed forwards, heedless of loss and injury. Even a crippling shot wasn't enough - wounds that would incapacitate any sane person through pain were simply ignored, and even if they bled out later, until they actually did they'd just keep killing._

 _The man's Devil Fruit abilities scattered them, sending charred bodies crashing to the ground to join their fellows. Two days ago, that would have been enough, the massed fire of the Marines bringing down the remainder in enough numbers that even the seemingly endless hatred of the enemy was not enough to let them close the distance._

 _Two days ago, the man had had three times the number of men under his command, and they'd had more ammunition than a carefully husbanded dozen bullets apiece._

 _Two days ago, he'd have been able to sleep rather than force himself to fight on past exhaustion, been able to continue the barrage that kept them from massing._

 _Two days ago, they'd still had a battleship off the coast to provide suppressive fire, instead of a wreck scattered behind the man, broken on the beach._

 _But this was now, and the man was tired, and the enemy kept coming, the rifle fire too thin to stop them._

 _The first of them leapt onto the makeshift breastwork, laughing madly as blood ran from the ragged remnants of one arm._

 _The man's fist crushed its skull and granted it the mercy of death, but it wasn't the only one of its kind to reach the barricade, and as the Marines found themselves grappling in hand to hand more and more of them broke through. Men fought, and men died._

 _The man fought on. The enemy could not touch him thanks to the powers of his Devil Fruit, could not hope to harm him, but they threw themselves at him regardless, dying in droves under his fists._

 _But while the man was invulnerable, his comrades were not._

 _It was only after he crushed the last of the enemy with an explosive fist that the man realized he was alone on a field of corpses, outside an empty city._

 _For a moment, there was only silence, as the man stared at the carnage. He was all that was left. Then, from below two of the enemy that had died on top of each other, bleeding out even as they tried to claw one of his men to death, something stirred._

 _A hand clawed its way, past the corpses, the man beneath rising. The Marine was dead - the man could see his ribs, laid open, the lungs beneath visible and unmoving as their owner somehow got to his feet. The Marine's eyes were empty. And yet he moved._

 _More and more clawed their way to freedom, the dead men he'd led to their doom rising, even those who they'd laid to rest pushing free of their shallow graves in the sand. The man recognized faces and names - Saidabotoru and his blond mohawk, the shattered stumps of twin blades clutched in hands still stiff with rigor mortis, Usuikitaru and his scars, the face that'd been so lively in life slack and dull, Bakuga and the mustache that'd been his pride and joy, staggering forwards with rifle in hand. The man knew them all._

 _When they came for the man, their hands somehow able to catch hold of him, to crush and cut, the man did not resist. Not even when-_

Sakazuki woke the same way he did most mornings - soaked in sweat, the taste of bile in his mouth, the sound of his alarm clock ringing in his ears. He shut the thing off without even looking at it, and rose from his bed, instantly reaching out with Haki and mundane senses alike to get the status of everything aboard the _Loyal Hound._ The first light of dawn was an hour away, and the battleship was largely quiet, only a few members of the night watch patrolling the massive vessel. All was in order.

Sakazuki rose early for two reasons. The first was that a great deal could be accomplished in the early hours.

Even now, thirty years after Innsmouth, the nightmares still plagued him. As if the truth of the matter was not bad enough, his own mind insisted on tormenting him with fantasies about the dead rising.

Still, he had his methods for dealing with such things, and by rising early, he could complete it in peace. In a routine that was so practiced it was more reflex than thought, he picked up his pruning shears, and walked from his bedroom to the small sitting room he kept on board the _Loyal Hound._ An Admiral could request larger quarters if they so wished, but Sakazuki had neither the need for them nor the desire. The room itself was less of a meeting place, and more somewhere for Sakazuki to keep the one luxury he allowed himself - a bonsai tree, near-perfectly shaped over the long years of his career. It was one of many - he rotated through a different one every day, and each was different from the other, requiring a different sort of care.

As he worked on the miniature tree, carefully pruning back branches with honed delicacy, Sakazuki let his mind wander, running down well-worn tracks.

Innsmouth. It all came back to that island.

Thirty years past, the island, a beacon of quiet and peace in the chaos of Paradise, had gone silent. No ships left it, and those who went there did not return. The Marines had dispatched Sakazuki, then a Rear Admiral, and the battleship _Ensured Reckoning_ to figure out what had happened. They'd had Transponder Snails to report back with, and Sakazuki had had a Devil Fruit that was stronger in direct combat than any other, as well as trusted and powerful Marines...people he'd been _proud_ to call crewmates and subordinates.

They had eyed the city from afar, and it had appeared deserted. Unwilling to risk his men in the warren of streets, with who knew what waiting for them, he'd ordered the _Ensured Reckoning_ to land in a cove close to the city.

They'd come under attack from almost the moment the first man stepped on the beach. A seemingly endless tide of shrieking humanity had flooded out from the seemingly abandoned city, and the Marines had made a fighting retreat back to the _Reckoning_ , leaving a dozen good men and ten times that number of madmen dead on the ground. They'd tried to contact Headquarters, to report that the town's population had seemingly gone mad, but every attempt to establish a Transponder Snail connection had met with failure. To leave was unthinkable - at the very least, they had to enforce some sort of quarantine, prevent more ships from vanishing and more importantly keep this madness from spreading. The Marines had settled in aboard the _Reckoning_ , safely out of range of the madmen - most of whom seemed too insane to utilize projectile weapons. The crazed bastards had thrown themselves at the ship anyway, always attacking at dusk, only withdrawing with extreme losses. The situation, though, was contained - they'd had ammunition to spare, the _Reckoning's_ guns and the abilities of Sakazuki and his subordinates provided more than enough destruction for the bulk of the hordes, and the enemy, for all their insane strength and ludicrous stamina, simply couldn't reach them without dying.

Then, one night, an attack had not come.

Instead, fleeing civilians - dirty, ragged, half-starved and clearly in fear of their lives - had flooded across the beach. The Marines had nearly opened fire out of reflex, but Sakazuki had kept bloodshed from happening, finally feeling some kind of hope in salvaging something from this disaster. He'd ordered the civilians brought aboard, fed, their wounds treated. They were farmers and beggars, those who made a living outside the city proper, and they were sane - and terrified of what had happened to their fellows, with no idea of what had caused them to go mad.

Or, they had seemed that way.

That night, someone set fire to _Ensured Reckoning's_ powder magazine. Out of the one thousand Marines on board, less than four hundred survived to drag themselves onto the shore, most of them walking wounded at best. None of the false civilians had survived.

They'd dug in, salvaging what guns and ammunition they could. For the next two days, they'd stood their ground. They'd fought. They'd died.

Because of Sakazuki's mistake. Because he'd tried to show mercy and compassion in the midst of hell, failed to be suspicious enough, careful enough.

The worst had come when, at last, the enemy had fallen, along with all the Marines under his command, and Sakazuki, exhausted beyond all measure, had staggered into the empty city, desperate to find a reason _why…_

He had only found one thing, laid in the center of town on blocks, an abandoned wagon nearby.

A block of stone, a monolith three meters high and one wide. Covered in symbols that had twisted themselves in front of the man's eyes, he'd stared at it in horror, and felt... something. Whispers, tangling themselves in his brain, trying to sink hooks into his mind. Something unnatural, filled with ancient hatred and malevolence, encroaching on his soul before he'd torn his gaze away with a snarl.

His last act before losing consciousness had been to lash out with all his fear and hate, Haki-enhanced magma roaring forth.

When he'd awoken - something he had not expected - the only trace of the damnable thing had been a hole in the ground, so deep he could not see the bottom.

He'd subsisted in that city for a week before another ship came, this one a trading vessel. It had been another month before he made it to a Marine base, to at last report what had happened.

The report had been buried, the _Ensured Reckoning_ and its crew declared lost at sea, Sakazuki himself declared the only survivor. Innsmouth had been struck from the rolls of history.

All on the orders of the Elder Stars.

He'd been young, then, but he'd hated the thought of those petty old men removing what they'd sacrificed from history. He'd nearly considered resigning, and his arguments with his superiors had nearly escalated to the point of violence...and then Kong, then an Admiral, had taken him aside. Sakazuki still recalled the words the man had spoken.

" _Do you think you are the first to find some relic of the Void Century? The first to find something we were not meant to know about, from that ancient and cursed era?" The man - powerfully built still, for all that his hair was starting to grey - sighed heavily. "Listen, Sakazuki. You know by now that Justice demands sacrifice. That it can take everything a man has. Sometimes...sometimes even the memory of someone must be removed, to keep Justice alive. The alternative...the alternative is madness. The thought of making what you've lost seem like nothing burns, kid, but it's necessary. One person spreading word, one memory, one tale to inspire others...and every life you lost will count for nothing, because what happened at that island will happen again. The only way forward, the only way to honor those lost, is to make it so that their sacrifice was worth it. To stand between the rest of the world, and what pieces of forgotten history would destroy it. That is what it means to serve Justice, absolutely and without hesitation."_

After that... he'd understood.

Sacrifices had to be made, in pursuit of an ideal. And if that sacrifice had to be his humanity, his honor, even the memory of his deeds...Sakazuki would make that sacrifice gladly, if it kept the world safe. There were others who understood what was necessary, knew what measures needed to be taken to keep order. Even Sengoku himself understood things like dangerous bloodlines.

But it all came down to balance.

Sakazuki put down the pruning shears, inspecting the bonsai meticulously. The tree was perfect in every way.

Balance. To trade the life of a Marine, so that the others would fight harder, and save many others. To wipe out an island, so that the dangers of their knowledge would not infect the rest of the world. To kill a dream, because of the nightmare that it would bring.

Every sacrifice was necessary.

For his crewmates. For the woman he'd once loved, so long ago. For the world. Anything justified itself, if he could but make what they'd all lost _worth_ something.

It was why, when the word had come down from on high to fully erase Innsmouth, he'd done the deed himself, tracking down the merchant who'd picked him up, paying him to take him back to that place...and destroying the island utterly, and after…

Well, those who'd seen the island had not suffered needlessly. And their families were taken care of - he had ensured it.

The day after he'd come back from the smoking hole in the ground that had once been an island, alone on the merchant vessel, he'd been promoted to Vice Admiral.

Sakazuki stood, returned to his bedroom, and began his morning ablutions.

It was Akainu that left the cabin, the Red Dog of the Marines. He strode quickly to the communications room, which was largely deserted at this time of day. The one ensign on duty left at his nod, and Akainu sat himself in front of the main Transponder Snail, contacting a very specific number only after ensuring that all the anti-wiretapping measures and the three layers of scrambling were in place.

"Brief me," he said shortly.

The voice on the other end of the connection spoke, and Akainu listened. When it finished, he hung up.

So. That was how things were to be, then.

He dialed another number, this one a loyal subordinate, one of the few who instead of following Absolute Justice due to fanaticism or psychopathy knew it with the zeal only the truly enlightened could understand. The Transponder Snail attempted to imitate the face of the man for a few moments, before giving up in disgust.

" _Orders, Admiral?"_ the man on the other end of the line asked.

"You're being reassigned. Arlen. Observe the head researcher there. Your ostensible role is that of bodyguard, given recent developments with the man's family. You are to keep a close eye on his mental state, and ensure he doesn't do anything...unadvisable."

" _And if he does?"_

"Take whatever actions you see fit. His mind is useful, but that only goes so far."

" _Understood, Admiral. We will make sail for Arlen."_ The man on the other end hung up, and Akainu sat back in his chair.

Neither of his colleagues really _used_ the authority of an Admiral. But Akainu understood it. It was the greatest tool for dispensing Justice he had, more so than any Devil Fruit or proficiency in Haki could muster. It was also vital for keeping the balance, by directing Marines where they would do the most good with the fewest losses.

"Grigori…" he muttered to himself.

That family was...volatile. Loyal, yes, they had proved themselves for longer than Akainu had been alive. They provided researchers to countless low-level tasks in World Government projects the world over, never quite taking the center stage but always there in the background, performing whatever needed doing...and being loyal enough to understand necessary sacrifices and hard decisions. There had been exceptions, two of them two decades ago and two more now, but by and large they were of more benefit to the Marines and the World Government intact and willing to serve. It was likely enough that they would remain that way, but it never hurt to be certain...and one of those modern-day exceptions was close enough to Arlen that he felt it best to have a capable man on station, just in case the renegade bore some sort of grudge against the rest of his family.

Akainu considered the list in his head, of what crises threatened the world and who he could trust, and began making his next call with all the care of selecting the right kind of pruning shears.

The order of the world would be kept. No matter the cost.

* * *

Monkey D. Dragon was very rarely a happy person.

Running what seemed at times like the only organization devoted to actually _helping_ people in the world was draining at its best, and closer to a near-death experience at its worst. The Revolutionary Army was perpetually outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed, speed and stealth their only advantages in the long conflict with Marines and pirates alike. Their information network struggled to stay one step ahead of Cipher Pol and Marine Intelligence, secret wars being fought in the underbellies of cities the world over. They were always on the brink, never resting, never having more than a moment's breathing room…

But now, he had the best currency a revolutionary could carry - information.

The ghoul had been far more helpful than even he knew.

After all, while it was always useful to know some of the secret players on the world's chessboard, it was far more useful to have forewarning of the chaos to come.

Kuma had been extracted before the World Government could completely destroy him, and now every piece of information he knew was theirs.

Sabo was on his way to intercept Ace, and to prevent the rise of another Emperor.

King Neptune now knew who was responsible for the death of his wife, and had returned that information with valuable links to the Ryugu Kingdom's own intelligence services.

The agents tasked with investigating Joker had been pulled away for their own safety, and a careful war of sabotage begun now that they knew where all the illegal shipments had to go.

And so much more.

They had two months until the Straw Hats, led by his son, would invade Enies Lobby and rescue Nico Robin. More than enough time for the few deep-cover agents that had made their way there over the years to make their own preparations to take advantage of the chaos.

They had four until his son decided to punch a Celestial Dragon in the face, and cause even more mass chaos across the Archipelago...not to mention what could unfold if the ghoul's crew made their way there at the same time. He moved men and women to be ready.

Things were not coming to a head, not yet...but Dragon had an idea of the enemy's next moves, now.

And so, leaning on the balcony's railing, overlooking the plains of Baltigo, Dragon did something he never had since he'd taken up the job of leading the world to a brighter future…

He laughed.

* * *

The situation at the G-7 Marine Base, located on the isle of Arlen, could best be described as 'organized terror'.

This was not a particularly unusual situation, due to the island that preceded it in the Grand Line - Tartarus. The volcanic Summer Island was an anomaly even in an ocean famed for its nonsensicalness, the immensely strong currents that surrounded it capable of pulling ships off course from the other routes through the Grand Line...and just as capable of putting them on others once a ship left the isle. One of the islands those currents connected to was Bacanar...and thus, events at the Pirate City were always cause for concern.

It was the latest events at both Bacanar and Tartarus that had the main meeting room in G-7 filled with barely suppressed panic.

It was something that Rear Admiral Gripper detested. They were supposed to be Marines, the enforcers of Justice, not a pack of cowards who shied away from facing pirates. The base commander glared at his subordinates as they dithered, wishing that the new transfers he'd heard about would get here sooner. He'd heard excellent things about Captains Smoker and Hina, and while they weren't quite as devoted to the cause as they should be, that was why Marines ended up transferred to Arlen. A shift guarding the Quarantine Wall around Pacifica City or providing escort duty for a medical train into it provided a wonderful shift of perspective.

Gripper considered whether to simply leave the meeting or not, and decided against it. He might find something actually useful in the worries of his subordinates.

"-Tartarus might be going dark, we haven't gotten any ships from there for nearly a week, and snail calls have gone unanswered. It's possible Eustass Kid rampaged there - he was last spotted in Bacanar, and if he knew of the Hell Currents he'd be certain to sack the island, if only because the Demon Tribe is famed for its wealth and pride. A bounty increase has already been authorized to two hundred fifty million for his actions in Bacanar, and if he truly destroyed Tartarus...word from Headquarters is that he'll be increased to three hundred fifty million. And if he comes here…"

"If he comes here," Gripper said, leaning forward and letting his long grey hair fall forwards to frame his face, "he will die. We are Marines. He is a pirate, and one too powerful to let live."

"...Understood, Rear Admiral. The last point of concern, then, is Bacanar itself. Word from what few informants Marine Intelligence has there is that the Nightmare Pirates are there, gathering strength."

Gripper smiled.

The Nightmares. A terrifying crew by Paradise standards, filled with literal monsters. They were something to actually worry about, if not for their strength alone.

"The Nightmares are skilled at three things," Gripper noted. "Stealing whatever information and riches are not nailed down, murdering their opponents with efficient brutality, and, last, and most dangerous...gathering disparate elements to their banner. How many crews did Kid leave behind with their captains broken?"

"Twenty, Rear Admiral…"

"And that's how many we'll have to fear leaving with the Nightmares if and when they decide to move on from the Pirate City." Gripper stood, and locked eyes with each of his subordinates in turn. "Most of them are rabble, and dealt with easily enough. But three...three are dangerous, with bounties of nine figures." He motioned to the immense board that took up the entirety of one wall, plastered from end to end with bounty posters, sorted by value and proximity to G-7. Three stood above the rest.

Gripper nodded to the first, a picture of a massively built bearded redhead, laughing with a mug of ale in one hand and a cuff of metal wrapped around the other. "Invictus 'Dawnbringer' Helios, Captain of the Solar Flare Pirates, worth 180 million. He's barely even a pirate at all, more concerned with cheap spirits and sailing the seas than anything violent...but we all remember what happened in Dankin City. If Grigori somehow convinces him to _become_ dangerous...we will face a difficult battle."

He turned his gaze to the next, which featured a cadaverous man whose image matched Gripper glare for glare. A priest's collar was fixed around his neck, and the edges of a book could be seen at the bottom of the picture. "Lytros 'Priest of Anarchy' Jeremiah, Captain of the Redemption Pirates, worth 150 million. Helios might be an unstoppable force, but Lytros is a threat to the mind. I'm not sure whether we need to worry more about Grigori converting him or the other way around, but either way, his rhetoric alongside the combat prowess of the Nightmares is a threat to the rule of law wherever they could travel."

The last poster was the most recent. It featured a young man, eyes ringed by dark circles, but a lazy smirk on his face, crowned by a round white hat. "And last, Trafalgar 'Surgeon of Death' Law, Captain of the Heart Pirates, worth 100 million and one of the new rookies that's risen to such prominence in recent months. The power of the Op-Op Fruit, combined with Nightmare medical prowess, could result in untold horrors."

Gripper turned his gaze to his subordinates. "The Nightmares can rally as much of the remaining rabble as they like, and be nothing more than particularly ambitious scum, seeking safety in numbers. But if any of these three join their cause...we will have no choice but to sail out and crush them before they can grow in strength any further. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Rear Admiral," came the chorus from everyone in the room.

"Good. Dismissed."

* * *

Mavros Thorakis had decided subtlety was overrated.

Three times now he'd tried to send an emissary to the Nightmares, to demand a settling of accounts. All three times, they'd failed, for circumstances ostensibly benign...but whether or not it was the Nightmares arranging things, as some of his crew believed, or merely the universe having some cosmic joke at his expense, mattered not.

The Nightmares were marching in the streets, and the Knightmares blocked their path. Eighty men and women in gleaming Gothic armor, opposite three hundred in an intense array of arms and armor.

Grigori held up a hand, and the column of Nightmares halted. "So," the man said. "This is the result of gratitude? You really going to fight us?"

Thorakis tensed. "Honor must be satisfied."

"Don't tell me you owe Kid some kind of fucked-up debt, tin can."

Thorakis's train of thought derailed and launched itself into the ocean. "Owe...Kid...what?"

"I think we broke him," the Butcher Bird remarked. "Oi, Shiny McMedieval, why are you here? We've got an armada to assemble, a crew to avenge, and an asshole to kill."

Thorakis looked at the Nightmares. They looked murderous. "He went after someone you cared about, didn't he?"

The three hundred or so assembled pirates growled in unison.

"Very well. Alley Doctor, we can settle our issues later. I trust you will have no problem with my crew joining yours on your voyage to make Eustass Kid regret every single decision in his life?"

Grigori laughed. "Not at all, tin man. Not at all."


	62. Chapter 84

Law had very nearly considered filleting the Nightmare who'd shown up to deliver the message, if only because the man's arrival had woken the newly named Trafalgar D. Maxim and _for the love of God he needed more sleep._

He didn't go through with it, though, which he personally considered a wonderful display of restraint. Instead, he had simply nodded at the armor-wearing giant, and gathered his crew.

Finding the Nightmares was easy. The crew had taken over an entire street's worth of bars and restaurants, a sea of white clothes and armor plating spilling out into the street. The low murmur of conversation filled the air, and finding Vinci would've been difficult with the sheer number of pirates around, if not for one thing.

The song.

" _Bring me a bottle or two, me lad_

 _Bring me a bottle or four…"_

On the rooftop of one of the restaurants, a swanky place Law hadn't gone to due to not having that kind of cash on hand after the cost of repairing the _Polar Tang_ had been factored in, the Butcher Bird sat, playing guitar. A small coterie of musicians had joined him, some of them armored giants, some the more normally dressed fighters.

" _For the company fine_

 _Of women and wine_

 _Is what I'm looking for…"_

That was the place, then. Law glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the Heart Pirates. "Shachi. Make sure nobody gets into trouble. Bepo, you're with me. Let's see what Alley-Doc-ya wants so badly."

The Mink saluted, which was honestly a somewhat entertaining image since he had Maxim in a baby carrier across his chest, and the rest of the crew ran off to get drunk.

" _Bring me me big old knife, me lad_

 _Bring me me rusty old gun…"_

As he and Bepo walked down the street, he thought furiously. The message had been simple: "We know where Eustass Kid is. Let's go kill him." Law didn't have the same kind of hatred for Kid that the other crews undoubtedly did, but honestly, he could get behind something like that.

That, and the fact that building a relationship with other crews would almost certainly come in handy later on. The ones who survived and made it to the New World would make useful allies when the time came.

" _For the women and wine ain't a-coming for free_

 _And there's plenty of work to be done."_

The question was, what would Alley Doc want? He always got _something_ he wanted, in the end, and Law didn't think having Kid dead would be enough. It wasn't like Kid had gone after Alley Doc's crew himself.

Whatever. Whatever Alley Doc really wanted to get out of this gathering didn't matter. Law had his own things to settle.

What remained to be seen was who would join in.

" _There's plenty of folks hereabouts, me lad_

 _Whose purses and bellies are fat…_

 _They drive company cars, smoke expensive cigars,_

 _And have men to take care of their hat."_

He'd run the numbers. None of the crews who Kid had tried to cripple had left Bacanar, though surely some would've had their Log Poses finish setting by now. That meant twenty crews, counting the Heart Pirates, who could join the cause. Then there were the two new ships and the men to crew them...were they just part of the Nightmare Pirates, or crews in their own right? He needed more information on what they were going to do.

" _They don't give a care for us poor hatless fools,_

 _Though out in the gutter we sit…_

 _But the thing about fat bellies and purses, me lad,_

 _Is both are well easy to slit."_

Law's gaze snapped up, locking eyes with the Butcher Bird. The black-eyed man grinned at him, and continued playing.

" _Bring me a bottle or two, me lad,_

 _Bring me a bottle or four._

 _Shake the dust off me cloak,_

 _Bring me me best smokes,_

 _And leave all your regrets at the door."_

The ghoul stepped off the rooftop, landing in front of Law and not missing a note on his guitar.

" _Now make sure your ole knife is sharp, me lad,_

 _And make sure your powder is dry…_

 _For the world is awash in fools, blood and gold,_

 _ **And all men are just waiting to die.**_ "

Law didn't react at all to the sudden appearance of a demonic reverb in the Butcher Bird's voice. He simply met the...creature's...grin with a sarcastic smile. "Very nice. I'm sure your mother's proud."

The Butcher Bird's smile widened, if such a thing was possible. "You. I like you." He glanced at Bepo and Maxim, and his nostrils flared. "Huh. You gave the bear the fruit?"

Bepo bowed his head in a silent apology, and Law glared at the Butcher Bird. "How many secrets do you know?" he asked.

The Butcher Bird shrugged. "Enough that they'll stick me in a deep, dark hole to be forgotten instead of risking me pulling a Roger on the execution platform. And enough to wonder when you'll bring forth a storm, child of white."

Okay, time to put a stop to this now.

" _Room."_ The blue sphere snapped out, and the Butcher Bird froze. " _Scan."_ Then Law froze himself, as he got a full understanding of exactly what he was looking at. The Room collapsed soundlessly, and Law took a step back.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"You want that list by chronological order, alphabetical, or DSM-4 classification?"

"No, your-" Law cut himself off. "Forget it. You already know, don't you?"

"Yeah, we're all mad here. Go on in, Captain's waiting for you...and honestly, if you decide to kick him in the nuts for the amount of trouble he's given you, nobody'll really stop you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Law said flatly, walking past the Butcher Bird and into the restaurant proper. He tried to put what he'd seen - the writhing, discordant cells that made up half the man's brain and massive parts of his body, the ongoing self-annihilation as the unstable cells ate away at each other - out of mind, and focused on the room.

It was _exactly_ as swanky as the exterior implied. Leather booths, white tablecloths, dim lighting...the damn place looked like it belonged in a gangster film.

The obviously terrified waitstaff also belonged in a gangster film. Law wondered if Alley Doc would actually _pay_ for his meal, or if he'd get it 'compliments of the house'.

Alley Doc was easy enough to spot - several tables had been pushed together, enough seats for every captain on the island, and Alley Doc sat at the head of the whole thing. Farther down was the armored form of the captain of the Knightmare Pirates, which was a surprise - Law had figured the two crews had been feuding. The captains of the two new Nightmare ships sat closer, but not directly next to Grigori like you'd expect subordinate captains to do...what was going on there?

As Law glared at him, the scar-faced pirate looked up from his menu, and grinned. "Trafalgar! Wasn't sure you'd come. And you brought the kid! How's the little guy holding up?"

Law attempted to make Grigori spontaneously combust, and failed, so he settled for just continuing to glare at the bastard. Grigori just laughed. "Okay, okay, none of my business. Come on, sit, we're still waiting on everyone else."

Against his better judgement, Law took a seat, directly across from Grigori so he could keep an eye on him. It had the added benefit of leaving him facing the door...seriously, was Alley Doc completely unconcerned with personal safety?

Then again, the Butcher Bird was right outside.

On second thought, Law pitied anyone who tried to attack Grigori.

"You only want captains at this table?" he asked flatly.

Grigori shrugged. "You do whatever. My officers wandered off because they're a pack of vaguely homicidal and easily bored madmen...well, except Jack and Gin, but they're busy making sure the rest of the crew doesn't start anything. Yours might be more sane, and we've got enough chairs anyway."

Bepo visibly wavered, then pulled up a chair next to Law. Maxim yawned silently, looking around and glaring at each of the other pirates in turn. Baskonn, the one in charge of the _Necessary Means,_ leaned forwards. "That is the angriest damn baby I've ever seen," the tattooed man said, the tribal lines that covered his shoulder and most of his bare torso shifting under his skin. Probably his Devil Fruit ability.

Maxim's glare intensified, and so did Law's. Baskonn shivered.

His point made, Law sat back and watched as the other captains began to trickle in. Most of them were largely beneath notice...and that included the other two nine-figure bounties. Invictus was straightforward, and also too drunk to scheme, while Lytros wasn't a danger at all in combat and only had his huge bounty due to his ideology and ability to attract converts. Most of the lower bounties were just as simple as Invictus - good fighters, but not really a threat when it came to planning.

No, his eyes were on the clever bastards.

One looked almost like some of the pictures of Gold Roger - take the mustache away, thin the face a bit, replace black hair with a dark brown, and the man would be the spitting image of _The_ Pirate. All of it, a front, a careful construct...granted, Law couldn't figure out exactly what it was concealing. Grigori greeted him as Drake Vespucci, and that was enough for Law to remember that the man led the Navigator Pirates, and was worth 14 million. Not a lot, but the man was still someone to watch.

Another, Law recognized without needing Grigori to be his gregarious self. There weren't many albino pirates who wore a Krieger uniform, after all. Euclid 'Determinant' Siegfried, worth 41 million, and a strategist famous for having broken armies with a single company of Krieger infantry...and then looted their everything. The albino took a seat in between Law and Grigori, steepling his fingers as he joined them in waiting.

The third wasn't a man - or a human at all. Instead, an animated statue walked in, carrying a transponder snail on one shoulder. The statue set the dozing mollusc down in front of an empty chair, before taking a ready stance behind it. There was really only one person who fit the profile for that, though Law had never seen them: Eshirus 'One-Man Company' Yeager, Captain of the Kabbalic Pirates. Law didn't trust him - someone who acted via Devil-Fruit-made proxies was suspicious as hell.

The others were strong, but those three were _threats._

Once everyone was present and seated - only Invictus and a cone-headed individual Law didn't recognize had brought other officers from their crew, and that was probably because they were drunk and concussed respectively - Grigori cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of every captain. "So, let's get down to things. Kid's in Tartarus, he's pissed off all of us, and I figure it's better if we all work together to plan something so we all get a piece of him. Any objections?"

"Who's in charge?" a young black-haired man in boxing attire questioned.

"Who gives a shit?" Grigori answered. "I would like you guys working with me, not for me. You want to help plan or not, that's your problem. I just want to know if you're sailing with us."

There was a moment of silence. Then, one by one, the other captains began to nod. Even Eshirus's snail managed to do so, despite lacking an identifiable neck.

Grigori's grin widened. "Great. Now that we're on the same page, how do you all feel about biological augmentation?"

...This meeting may have been a mistake.

* * *

Lytros Jeremiah was many things - a fanatic, arguably lacking in sanity, and utterly devoted to his calling - but unobservant was not one of them.

And even a half-wit would be hard-pressed not to notice he was being followed when the person doing the following was constantly glaring at him, as though he'd shot their dog.

It was a small mercy that most of the captains had left the meeting after Grigori has made his pitch, leaving who everyone had agreed to be 'the smart ones' to figure out exactly how to move twenty-three crews to a specific island on the Grand Line and ensure they all showed up at the same time.

Jeremiah had already decided that such an endeavor was a problem for the crew's navigator, and retrieved the man from his customary pile of explosives, tripwires, and narcotics before setting out in search of a stiff drink.

The entire time, the Nightmare gunner had been keeping an eye on him, hands close to her pistols. It was honestly just extremely creepy.

Well, every (sane...or debatably sane) crew had a bosun for situations like this, to rein in the loose cannons.

And for a crew of hellions, they needed one hell of a bosun. And they had one.

Rubeus Jack was _huge_ , standing near twice Jeremiah's own height - and he was not a short man by any means of the word. He was also nearly four times as _wide_ , and not an inch of it was fat. The armor plate that covered his body was even heavier than that worn by the other soldiers Jeremiah had seen among the Nightmares, approaching parody, but he carried it without any sign of effort whatsoever, even with an almost comically large warhammer on his back to add to his burden.

The huge man grinned at Jeremiah as he approached, a mug of ferociously potent alcohol in hand. "Well, preacher, what's eating you? Already had to reassure half the captains about the Augment thing, Captain might be a genius but he's no salesman."

"Your captain's work is not a problem to me," Jeremiah said. "Far from it. It gives people the strength to determine their own destinies. How could I not love it?"

"Grahahahaha! Well said, preacher. So what _is_ your problem? Any of my boys give you trouble?"

"No, no, not yet at any rate. But your gunner…" He shrugged. "Have I done something to offend her?" He paused. Rubeus had gone very still.

With all the delicacy of a man wary of triggering an avalanche, Jeremiah cleared his throat. "Is there…"

"That book of yours. Where did you get it?" Rubeus suddenly asked, voice cold.

Jeremiah paused, one hand falling to said book, which hung from his belt on a chain. His thumb rubbed the faded symbol embossed on the cover - a pair of scythes, crossed at right angles. "A trader brought it, one day. I was a librarian before I was a pirate...but once I read it, I knew I had to spread the word of it."

"What, that the strong rule over the weak, and therefore you should kill everyone who isn't strong?"

"...No. Why on earth would you-"

"Ran into a preacher with the same kind of book. More of a cult leader. Took over her town, drove out the ones he didn't convert. Burned the ones he caught. Including her parents. And that was what he preached."

Jeremiah bowed his head. "I see. That is not my creed."

"Oh?"

"The strong rule, that is true. But they can only rule because of their strength. Marines, Emperors, Warlords...they rule because they are strong personally. There is no morality in their actions, they slaughter and reave as they wish because nobody has the strength to stop them. Even the Navy." He glared at Rubeus. "My creed is simple. No gods, no masters. Set the people free to gain the strength to forge their own destinies. _That_ is what I preach, bosun."

"Heh. You and the captain are gonna get along fine. And if you're gonna make speeches...might want to tell _her_ that, instead of me."

Jeremiah nodded. "Of course." He paused. "She's right behind me, isn't she?"

"Yup," came a slow drawl from approximately two inches next to his left ear. Jeremiah very carefully avoided reacting, and turned to face the Nightmare gunner. She _smiled_ at him, and Jeremiah was suddenly reminded of the one time his crew had come across a hungry Sea King.

Unfortunately, he rather thought everyone would take it poorly if a battleship started bombarding the Nightmare gunner.

"Well? Got something to say?"

Jeremiah instantly bowed low. "You have my sincerest apologies for the grievous crimes committed against your home and people by a man of the cloth, for all that his faith was a twisted reflection of my own," he said quickly, staring down at the floor.

"Uhh…"

"You are, of course, free to take whatever retribution you see fit."

The gunner's jaw shut with an audible click, and she chuckled. "You'd make a good Nightmare, preacher. Just as crazy as the rest of us."

Jeremiah smiled thinly as he straightened. "Your captain is planning to bring two dozen crews to war against a man who is one of the most terrifying thing I've seen on these seas in two decades. I doubt anyone in this gathering is entirely _sane._ "

* * *

Baptist John was having a hell of a time.

Turns out that Sun Logias could still get drunk, or at least ones wearing seastone shackles could. Invictus Helios was a hell of a guy, too, paying for everyone's drinks.

Best of all, while John and all the fun people got shitfaced, the boring guys were off planning exactly how to wreck that snot-nosed punk's day. He didn't even need to do anything, just get the nav-guy to do whatever smarty-pants McScarface told him. Pretty good deal.

"Hey...hey, sun man…" he said vaguely, enjoying the buzz.

"What?" the red-bearded guy asked.

"Why...why're you still wearin' that thing," John continued, gesturing at the seastone shackle. "Didn't Kid put it on ya?"

"Nah, nah, it'sa...issa fail-safe. Or somethin."

"The last time we let the captain get drunk _without_ seastone cuffs on, we lost a city," the sun-guy's first mate said. Oh, hey, he wasn't drinking. Boooooooring.

"Wasn't _lost._ We found it."

"Ash doesn't count. You're lucky your drunken solar flares _somehow_ didn't kill anyone."

"Issat why your bounty has sixty thousand counts of causin' public indece...indec...getting people naked?" Macdonald Junior, the guy who made a pirate life out of boxing, asked from his position under the table. Heh. Kid couldn't hold his liquor.

"THIS IS HEARTENING."

Ow. Loud. John glared at the beard-guy, who smiled back at him. Dick.

"IT IS GOOD TO KNOW NOBODY IS AS MALICIOUS AS THE WORLD CLAIMS."

"Hey, beardy...volume…" a captain who wore a gas mask - which was pushed up on his face so he could drink - complained.

"VOLUME IS A LIE OF THE CLEAN-SHAVEN TO OPPRESS THE MANLY."

"YOU! YOU FUGLY BASTARD, I KNOW I KILLED YOU! DIE, ZOMBIE!"

John blinked as a red blur crossed his line of sight and slammed beardy-guy into a nearby wall. Nobody made any motion to break up the 'fight', which looked more like one really angry, really scary dude punching beardy in the face.

Eh, he probably deserved it.

Also, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that angry-guy was the Butcher Bird, and John liked his organs where they were.

"Boss, wait!"

Oh look, more red guys.

John looked at the ripped-in-half table, with a quite thoroughly unconscious Macdonald Junior underneath it and everyone's drinks on the floor.

Eh, fuck it. He'd had enough to drink for the moment. He sat back and watched as six relatively normal people tried to hold back a vibrating Butcher Bird.

"God damn it, who gave him espresso!" one of them shouted as he attempted to pin down a wing.

"I SEE. YOU ARE THE ONE WHO KILLED MY BROTHER," Beardy shouted, pushing himself back to a standing position.

"Well this is a right cock-up," gas-mask muttered.

"WONDERFUL!"

The Butcher Bird stopped moving in shock. So did most of the bar.

"HE ALWAYS SOUGHT TO IMITATE ME IN MANLINESS, AND FAILED MISERABLY. HIS DEVIL-FRUIT-SPAWNED POWERS ARE NO EQUAL TO TRUE **POWEEEEEERRRRRR!** "

The Butcher Bird gaped. John found himself doing the same.

"LET US DRINK TO HIS DEMISE!"


	63. Chapter 85

Vespucci was sweating under his coat.

He wasn't cut out for any of this. He'd never been cut out for any of it, ever, but ever since one pirate crew had kidnapped him for his Devil Fruit and then all died from some horrible disease, he'd been stuck playing this role. From the moment that other pirate vessel had found him alone aboard ship, and the rumors had started (not helped by the fact he'd stolen one of the dead captain's coats to keep warm) he'd been forced to keep playing a part. Things hadn't been helped by the fact that the next captain had gotten eaten by a Sea King, and _somehow_ the crew had interpreted Vespucci's being frozen in stark terror as him scaring the damn thing off with a glare, and made _him_ the new captain!

He didn't even want to be a pirate, he just wanted to not die!

But no, he had to keep up the pretense, or this band of cutthroats would kill him in seconds.

And so he kept on a brave face as the so-called 'brain trust' debated just how best to go on their insane quest.

(No, Vespucci hadn't had any issues with Kid. The crazy bastard hadn't even touched him. But he'd seen the man block the Sun Logia's attack _barehanded_ and then smack him into the dirt, and Vespucci wanted no part of a man who could do that).

"Keeping any kind of formation will be borderline impossible. Tartarus might have a current leading to it that we can reach, but the Grand Line is still the Grand Line, and forever treacherous," the albino in the military uniform said flatly. "We'll be lucky to arrive at roughly the same time. And if we don't coordinate..."

"Eustass can pick us off one by one, I know, Turing," the scar-faced madman said. "I'm honestly kind of pissed he figured out how to make a railgun with his powers. Makes our job difficult."

"A night approach would be best," a mustachioed captain in fur and riding leathers said, sun-tanned features squinting. "Approaching under cover of dark, he wouldn't see us coming."

"I suppose we're assuming everyone in the city itself is dead or dying?" the pale, emo-looking captain rasped.

"If they aren't now, they will be by the time we get there," Grigori said. "Only reason I know Kid is going to be there is he's waiting for me." The pirate grinned. "He thinks it'll be just my crew showing up."

There was a round of evil chuckling, which Vespucci dutifully joined in.

"The problem with us keeping formation and arriving at the right time remains prevalent," Turing said. "Until we solve that…"

"Well, if anyone has a Devil Fruit or something that helps with navigation, speak up," Grigori said with a grin.

Wait, what did he know? What was he implying?

Vespucci very carefully did nothing as his mind raced. He'd worked so hard to keep his Devil Fruit secret, his own crew wouldn't tell a soul, how had Grigori figured it out?

Fuck. Time to face the music.

"Actually," he said, straightening his spine as two dozen pirates (and one statue and one transponder snail) glared at him. "I can plot a timely course. Quite easily, even," he said slowly. "There's somewhere in town that makes Vivre Cards, right?" Please let there not be a place, please let there not be-

"Actually, yes," the mustachioed captain said. "One of my crew is skilled in the art. She also does fortune tellings."

"Reading palms?" Turing scoffed.

"Blood magic, actually. Dead animals, lots of chanting. Would be doing more of it, if _someone_ hadn't decided to turn the goat herds we purchased into sausage."

"I confess to nothing," Grigori said, face carefully blank. "But, yes, Vivre Cards...ah, I get it. If everyone can follow _your_ course, we can keep together with minimal issue."

Vespucci nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

"You realize, of course, that'll put you on the front lines."

Shit.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Vespucci lied.

"We need a name," the transponder snail said. Everyone's attention pivoted to the mollusc, which flinched.

"For what?" Turing asked.

"This...alliance, of ours. Is it going to end with Kid, or is it going to be something else?" the snail asked. "Grigori is entrusting us with his creations, Drake with his secrets and a key to his location...are we going to trust each other, and work together, or does this end in betrayal once Kid dies?"

"I, for one, would rather not be stabbed in the back," the sallow-eyed doctor muttered, shifting his sword on his shoulder.

"Same here," mustache added.

"I expect to anyway, but I will be pleasantly surprised if I am not," the emo albino deadpanned.

"This is my point," the mollusc declared. "How can we trust each other?"

Mustache chuckled. "Bold words from a man hiding behind a transponder snail."

"You know what, Drogos Attilla? You've got a good point."

The head of the statue crumbled.

There was a tiny person standing there.

Vespucci didn't let his shock show on his face, which was more than could be said for most of his contemporaries. He heard Grigori laughing over the rising noise of panic.

" _QUIET!"_

Vespucci grabbed his poor, abused ears, and glared instinctively at the shouter, before his brain caught up with his face and registered the fact the man had coal-black skin, glowing red eyes, and the stature of a part-giant. The big man locked eyes with Vespucci, and nodded.

"The tiny man wishes to speak," the green-armored giant said calmly. "Let us let our friend have his say, yes?"

"Er, right…" Vespucci said softly. "Go ahead, little guy."

The tiny person, a black-haired person whose only distinguishing feature (apart from his size) was his shaved, ratlike tail, bowed. "I am Erasmus Yeager, known as the One-Man Company, and a member of the Tontatta Tribe of Canaan. Hiding within my golems gives me the ability to go unnoticed...now, does anyone else have similar secrets? Any captains or crewmen want to step up?"

"My first mate has an unparalleled store of information due to his origins," Grigori noted. "Quite a few interesting secrets there. Also, I'm pretty sure my family has been working as mad scientists with the World Government for at least three generations."

"Anyone who isn't horribly terrifying?" Yeager asked.

There was a moment of silence, and then everyone started trying to talk at once again.

Vespucci slunk away without looking like he was slinking away, a skill he'd honed over years, and waited for the ridiculousness to end. He really didn't need to know any more secrets. He had enough of his own.

He couldn't be entirely certain, but he was pretty sure he saw the sallow-eyed doctor knee the scar-faced one in the balls during the ongoing discussion/argument/bragging rights contest. It was probably a trick of the light, because Grigori continued laughing as if nothing had happened.

Eventually, though, the madness died down.

"So," Grigori said. "Bound by secrets and gifts given, what should we call our sorry lot?"

"There is a legend among my people," the Tontatta began. "About a host of spirits that goes hunting for specific people who offend our gods. Traitors, kinslayers, people who mix fabrics - you know, heretics. It is a terrible thing, an army of monsters and the damned, that knows no rest, no remorse, until their target is erased from existence entirely. We call it the Wild Hunt."

Grigori's grin seemed to shine. "Well, then. That seems a name that fits. To the Wild Hunt!"

"TO THE WILD HUNT!"

* * *

Bob was a hospital orderly at Gold Roger Memorial, who'd just seen a long series of highly traumatizing things, which included, in chronological order:

A long parade of horribly maimed pirates.

Then about a month later _the exact same thing._

Then the person who'd cured the first batch and brought in the second looking at the half-machine, half-person pirates, _cutting off his own foot_ to replace it with one of the mechanical feet, laughing all the while.

 _Then_ being conscripted to implant glowing golden hearts into all the half-machine pirates while said crazy-ass captain babbled about genetic adaptation.

 _AND THEN_ being ordered to watch several dozen unconscious robot pirate people, all of whom looked like the spawn of robot Cthulu, until they woke up.

Bob, in his highly informed medical opinion, was just about done with the universe's shit.

Still, the possibility of getting blamed by an obviously insane pirate captain if he left and something went wrong was ever-so-slightly more concerning than the deep boredom he was experiencing.

Even if the steady, rhythmic breathing of the ward's unconscious occupants was extremely creepy.

Something stirred in the corner of Bob's vision.

The orderly sighed, and put down his book. "What the fuck do you want?" he asked flatly.

"- ... . - .- -.-. ... .. -. . .- -.-. - ... -··- - ... . - .- -. -.-. - - .-. .-. . ... . -. -.. ... ·-·-·- - ... .-. - ..- -. ... - ... . ..-. ..- ... .. - -. - ..-. -... - - ... .- . .- .-. . - .- -.. . -. .-. . .- - . .-. ·-·-·- .-. .-. .- .. ... . -... . ..- -. - - - ... . -. - -.. - ..-. -.-. .-. . .- - .. - -. ·-·-·-" came a sequence of buzzing noises from his left.

Great. The Cthulu-bot-people were starting to wake up.

Bob turned his head, and just as quickly turned it away. "For the love of God, put some fucking pants on."

".- ... .- - .. ... .- .-. .- -. - …"

There was a rustle of cloth. Bob waited for a moment, and then judged it safe to look.

Well, it wasn't pants, but it sufficed. Robot-Cthulu The First had put on a ragged red robe - probably one of his personal effects - which covered his body...with the unfortunate exception of the clockwork tendrils protruding from his back. His eyes glowed in the depths of the robe's hood.

One of the clockwork limbs, tipped with something sharp and spinning, pointed itself directly at Bob's head.

Bob just glared at the creepy clockwork fucker. "You got a problem?"

"..-. ..- -.-. -.- -.- - ..- -... .- .-.. - .. - - .-. . -·-·- .. ..-. -.- - ..- ·-· .-. . -.. ..- - -... . -. - ..- -. ... - - -... ..- -.- .- -. . .- -.-. .- .-. - ... .. ... .- . . -.- . -. -.. -··- -.- - ..- ·-· .-. . .- -... .. -. . -. - ..- -. ... ... -.-. ... - ..- -.-. -.- - - -.-. - - . - - -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ... . .-.. .-.. ·-· ... -.-. .- .-. ... -·-·- -... .- -.. -.. . .- .-.. ... -··- -.-. .- .-. ... - ... .- - -... .-. . .- -.- -.. - .- -. -··- - ... .. . ...- . ... -·-·- .. ..-. -.- - ..- - ... .. -. -.- -.- - ..- .-. -. - .. -. -. - - ..-. .. -. -.. .- -... .- .-. -. .- .. -. .- - -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ·-· ... -··- -.- - ..- -.-. .- -. -.- .. ... ... - -.- .- ... ... -·-·- .. - ·-· ... - ..- .-. -... . .-.. .. . ..-. - ... .- - -.- - ..- ·-· .-. . ... ..- -.-. ... .- ... - ..- .-. .. -.. - - - ... . .-. ..-. ..- -.-. -.- . .-. - ... .- - -.- - ..- ·-· .-.. .-.. ..-. .- .-.. .-.. ..-. - .-. - ... .. ... -... ..- .-.. .-.. ... ... .. - -. ..- .- .-. .- -. - . . -.. -·-·- .. ..-. -.- - ..- ..-. .. -. -.. .- -... . - - . .-. -.. . .- .-.. -··· ... ... - ...- . .. - ..- .-. -.- - ..- .-. ..- -. .-.. -.- .- ... ... -·-·- -.- - ..- ... . .- .-. -.. ..- ... .-. .. -. ... - -··· ... ... - ...- . .. - ..- .-. -.- - ..- .-. ..- -. .-.. -.- .- ... ... -·-·- -... .-. .. -. -. -.- - ..- .-. - .-. .- -.. . -··- -... .-. .. -. -. -.- - ..- .-. - .. - .-.. . -··- -... .-. .. -. -. -.- - ..- .-. .- .. ..-. . -··- .- . ·-· .-.. .-.. ..-. ..- -.-. -.- ... . .-. -·-·- - ... .- - ·-· ... .-. .. -. ... - .- . ·-· .-.. .-.. ..-. ..- -.-. -.- -.- - ..- .-. .- .. ..-. . -·-·- -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . .- - -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ... . .-.. .-.. ·-· ... -··- -.- - ..- ·-· .-. . ..-. ..- -.-. -.- . -.. ... .. -..- .- .- -.- ... ..-. .-. - - ... ..- -. -.. .- -.- -·-·- - .- -.- . .- ... .. -.- . - - -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ... . .-.. .-.. ·-· ... -·-·- ... - - . - ..-. -.-. ... .- .-.. .-.. . -. -. . .-. .. ... ... .. -. -. -··- - ... .- - ·-· ... .-. .. -. ... - -··- -.-. ... .- .-.. .-.. . -. -. . .-. .. ... ... .. -. -. ·-·-·- ... - .- -.. - . ... .. - .- - .-. -.- ··-·· .. ..-. -.- - ..- -.-. .- -. .-. .. ... ... -... ..-. . . - .. -. - ... . .- .. .-. ... - .-. .- .. -. ... - ..- .-. .- -. -.. -. - - -. . - .- . - -··- -.- - ..- -. . - -. - -.. - .- -. .-. .- -.- - . -. - ·-·-·- -.. - -. ·-· - .- .- .. - -··- -.. - -. ·-· - -.. . .-.. .- -.- -··- -.. - -. ·-· - ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .- .. - ... ..- ... - .-. .- . ·-· .-.. .-.. .-. .. .-. -.- - ..- .-. -. ..- - ... - ..-. ..-. -·-·- - -. .-.. -.- .- - -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ·-· ... ... . .-.. .-.. -··- - ... . - -. .-.. -.- -.. . .- .-.. . .-. - ... .- - - . .-.. .-.. ... -.- - ..- - - ..-. ..- -.-. -.- - ..-. ..-. ·-·-·- ... ..- .-. .-. -.- ..- .-. -··- .- ... ... ... - .-.. . -·-·- - ... .. ... . ...- . -. - . -. -.. ... - ... . - .. -. ..- - . -.- - ..- .- .-. .. - . ..- ... .- -.-. ... . -.-. -.- .- -. -.. .. - -... . - - . .-. -. - - -... - ..- -. -.-. . - .-. -.- - ..- ·-· .-. . .- -.. . .- -.. - - - ... . .-. ..-. ..- -.-. -.- . .-. ·-·-·- -. - - - ... . .-.. .-.. ·-·-·- -... .. -. -... .. .-.. .-.. ... . .-.. .-.. ·-· ... -.-. .- .-. ... -... .- .-.. - .. - - .-. . ·-· ... ..-. .. .-.. - ... .. . ... - .- -. -.. . -..- -.-. .-.. ..- ... .. ...- . ... - - . - ..-. - ... . - . .- -. . ... - ... - -. ... - ..-. -... .. - -.-. ... . ... .. -. - ... . ... - .- - . - ..-. - .- .-. -.- .-.. .- -. -.. -··- -. ..- .- .-. .- -. - . . -.. -·-·- -·-·-"

There was a moment of silence, and then Robot Cthulu the First facepalmed.

".. ... .- ...- . -. - .. -.. . .- .- ... -.- .. ... .- .. -.. - ... .- - -..- -. - .-. .- ... .- - .. ... -. - .. -. -. - -. .-.-.- "

"Yeah, I didn't understand a word of that, so I'm going to assume you want to know what the hell is going on. You want to know that, get your unconscious idiot friends up and go find Grigori Vinci, because I honestly couldn't give two shits about whatever toaster-fucking weird crap you've got going on, but he's the one who hauled you all in and shoved glowing organs into your collective chests."

" **.- .- .- -.- . -. -..- - -.- -... .-. . - ... .-. . -. .-.-.-"**.

The hospital ward emptied in seconds.

Bob decided it continued to not be his problem, and went back to his book.

* * *

If any coherent thought was running through LXVI's head, it was this:

 _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit._

This was the worst of the worst-case scenarios. Vinci was going to lead _everyone_ against a common enemy, including people who were incredibly dangerous in the eyes of even the top brass. That he'd survive and thrive was obvious, and any crews that did would end up joining his cause.

More islands would end up like the Archipelago.

LXVI couldn't allow that.

"It was time to call things in, burn his cover, and hopefully get out of the way after the brass decided to order a Vice Admiral - or, given their opposition, _three_ \- to clean house

The undercover agent slipped on board the _Phalanx_ silently, avoiding the watchman on board and making for his cabin. He'd have to kill the man on the way out, but doing so _now_ ran the risk of alerting others. And he needed time to call things in without being undisturbed.

His cabin was pitch-black as he opened the door silently and crept in, fumbling for the snoozing transponder snail largely by touch. Then he froze, suddenly overcome by the overwhelming feeling that someone was in the room with him.

LXVI straightened, placed the mollusc on the tiny desk his cabin had, and slowly opened the shutters on the equally tiny lantern.

There was nobody there.

LXVI let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and turned back to the snail, which by now was grumpily awake.

"Don't give me that damn look," he told the snail. "Connect me to HQ, pron-"

Someone knocked on the door, and LXVI stifled a curse, whirling towards the entrance and pulling out a pistol. After a moment's thought, he hid the weapon behind his back. "Come in," he said, keeping his voice even.

LXVI didn't recognize the man who entered - a slim, dark-haired man with painfully obvious cheekbones, wearing a dapper suit that cost more than most men could make in a year - and his fingers tightened on the pistol's grip. "Black sparrows in distant halls," he challenged.

"And yet the wolves below never know," the man replied without missing a beat.

Sign and countersign exchanged, LXVI tucked the pistol into the back of his trousers. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Calling things in. And it's too difficult to do on my ship. Too many eyes." The thin man took a seat on the edge of LXVI's cot, and produced a bottle and a pair of glasses from somewhere. "Drink?" he offered.

"Please," LXVI said calmly, watching as the man poured, and very carefully waiting for the other man to drink first before downing the fiery alcohol.

There was silence in the small cabin for a moment.

"Fuck," the thin man said, somewhat despondently.

LXVI nodded as he sat down on the cabin's sole small stool. "This was far beyond what we expected."

"Damn right. If the Marines don't move quick enough, we'll get a front-row seat as Grigori burns half the Grand Line to ash. Or worse."

"You've seen 'worse'." The other CP4 agent must be one of those embedded in the Nightmare crew proper, then.

"Yes. There's things worse than death, and Grigori looks pissed enough to start putting them to use." The thin man smiled wryly. "But, then again...that isn't your problem anymore."

"What do y-" LXVI froze, his body suddenly locking up. What on earth-.

"Ah, finally. Was starting to wonder if I'd messed up Bertram's instructions." The thin man's smile turned sharklike. "Just a paralytic. And before you ask, of course the bottle was poisoned. I'm just immune."

LXVI tried to scream, but his vocal cords wouldn't obey him.

"There's a lot more of you than I expected. This is going to take a while," the thin man said, standing and drawing a very large knife. "It's a wonder pirates get anything done if their crews are so filled with spies." The knife flashed out, and a stinging line of pain carved itself across LXVI's cheek.

"Ah, well. At least nobody will notice the disappearances. Plenty of reasons for crew to leave, where these crews are going." The thin man trailed his fingers along the bloodied knife, then stuck the scarlet-dipped phalanges in his mouth, sucking noisily. Was he trying to intimidate LXVI? That was pointless, Cipher Pol Four training burned out real fear as one of the first-

The thin man's flesh _rippled_. Black hair turned to brown, shrinking into the skull, and the man put on bulk and muscle in seconds. Bright green eyes dimmed and clouded until they became hazel, and the man's face broadened, becoming...becoming…

Becoming a perfect match to LXVI's own.

"Ah. That's a bit better."

The suit still fit perfectly, somehow.

"Now, little deceiver...time to say goodbye. It's been a nice talk. We'll see if I get tired of breaking your kind by the end of the night."

LXVI stared at the man. He couldn't speak, but he needed to know.

"Ah. Why? Simple."

The knife moved closer to LXVI's eye.

"For a better world."

Cold and dark claimed him.

* * *

There was a very large man in green armor. He was on a very large goat.

"This creature does my bidding now," the black-skinned...whatever he was, proclaimed.

The Dragon gaped for a moment, staring at the gigantic, obviously evil goat for a moment. "I swear I _just_ got rid of that thing," he said after several seconds of silence.

"Yes, but I befriended it," the man declared.

"You know what? Not my problem. Just don't trample anyone."

"Of course not. Onward, my friend! We must find a crew."

The giant goat-thing made a noise like rocks in a blender and clopped down the street past Six. The Dragon turned to keep it in view, and spotted him. "Huh. Something eating you?"

"I am unharmed," Six replied. Then he paused, considering whether clarification was needed. "So, no," he added.

A corner of the Dragon's mouth ticked upwards. "Doesn't really answer the question I was implying, Six."

"Ah. The Oni sent me to keep an eye on you. C was distracted by a pirate captain with a monocle and preposterous accent. They judged me an acceptable replacement."

"And they aren't coming themselves because…"

"They were concerned you would imbibe espresso again and put another one of their members through a wall once more. Also, they all appeared to be various degrees of intoxicated, so perhaps they thought it amusing."

"Eh, fair. You managing?"

Six tilted his head slightly, considering again. "...Yes. Though it would be easier to see things from afar."

"Uh...why?"

"Most of the captains are out in the open. Watching all of them at once would allow me to use my Devil Fruit with maximum efficiency, and therefore understand all their roles at once without risking straining myself too greatly."

"Oh, so the vibrating thing you did when you first met the crew. That...what, lets you foretell things?"

"Somewhat correct. Everyone has a role to fulfill. They push on the universe in certain ways. Ways my Devil Fruit can understand. Some roles are lesser, but all matter." He paused for a moment. "It is how I understood what the captain was. What you are. Your...song."

"Song?"

"Poetry. Wave function. It is...difficult to encapsulate."

"So that's why you called me the Dragon, earlier. Not being metaphorical?"

"No. It is an abbreviation."

"Interesting." The Dragon was silent, for a moment. "Alright, Six, I'll trade you. I'll get you the view you need, you tell me a version of me that's a bit less...abbreviated."

Six paused. "You would have given me the view anyway."

"Yes, but this way I feel slightly more like I'm making a bargain, and I find that satisfying."

Ah. Another layer to the role. The Unbound Physician did not bargain - he declared, or fought, uncaring if others followed or opposed him. The Dragon did care, and tried to harness others to him with those bargains, adding them to the hoard.

Intriguing. Six felt...pleased, that the Dragon considered him an equal to bargain with, rather than someone part of the hoard already. Even if the truth of the matter was that Six was _his_ , in every way that mattered, the Dragon still offered that choice, to accept or deny.

"Your wager is acceptable," he replied.

Kaneki grinned. "Right then. Hop on," he said, as a tendril burst free from his back. The scarlet appendage coiled in on itself and bent upwards, forming a makeshift seat. Six took the invitation for what it was, and sat. The tail had an odd, slightly rough texture to it, and was very warm, warmer than Six had expected even considering the sheer amount of body heat Kaneki seemed to produce.

"Hold on," Kaneki warned.

The world blurred, and Six found himself on a rooftop.

"This work?" Kaneki asked.

Six considered for a moment. Whatever building this was, the rooftop offered a perfect view of the street...and all of the people in it, a small army that, at Six's guess, numbered at least two thousand people.

Two thousand.

But, all in all, Six thought that perhaps only thirty or so would _matter_.

He inhaled, then exhaled, blocking out the sounds of the world around him.

" _Trembling Harmony."_

For the briefest of moments, the boundaries between himself and the universe stopped existing. He saw everything, because he _was_ everything. The universe sang an endless song that he was part of, singing along with the same wavelength-

Then he stopped, and the walls came crashing down, leaving him the Cook once again. Six.

He straightened, breathing in the awareness of twenty more roles...in addition to the dozen and two of the Nightmares, still insistent and present...and stronger than the last time. More potent. Not _changing_ , but enforcing themselves far more…

"Six, you with me?"

Ah. He was still drifting. Six shook his head, clearing it of cobwebs of metaphor to focus on the here and now.

"Yes," he replied. "My apologies. It is...very complex. More so with more people."

"Anything of interest?"

"Many things." He paused again as he scanned the crowd.

The green-armored man with the...goat. "Vulkan Lives. The Forgemaster. He will arm and armor us."

A black-haired, pale man, shoulders hunched. "Manson Havran. The Lord of Crows. Master of emotion."

A mutton-chopped, squat man, quietly assembling a palace of cards. "Makaik Kammak. The Castellan, who will fortify what we take."

A monocled man, whom the Hunter was patiently stalking. "Vickers Wellington. The Gentleman. He will tip the scales where swords cannot."

Fractions of names, barely more than their original abbreviations, but once started he couldn't stop. His finger swung from person to person, the Dragon's eyes watching and tracking.

The man in steel plate, the first to join them. "Mavros Thorakis. The Champion, loyal to a cause and a dream."

An enormous dark-skinned man in golden robes, flanked by twin bodyguards as he stared blankly into space. "Diceros Keita. The Wandering King, wealth and power and fame, and yet empty inside."

A man with a cone-shaped head, yelling with his fists raised. "Tyson Crockett. The Fool. Always a joke, never to be disregarded."

An ambulatory diving suit, heavily armored. "Rapture Bubbles. The Protector. A shield for all under his aegis."

A man wrapped from head to toe in bandages and a trench coat, leaning against a wall. "Ellison Carver. The Thief, who snatches dreams."

He let out a breath. That was all of them out in the open and unknown. More than enough.

His hands shook. He ignored it.

"A lot of personalities to juggle," the Dragon noted, lighting his pipe. Smoke wreathed his face. "A lot that could go wrong."

"Unlikely."

"Oh?"

"They will follow. At least for now. They have to, to get revenge. After...after, maybe it will be a problem." He cocked his head. "But it is not for me to handle the problem."

Kaneki snorted. "Fair enough. Wouldn't ask you to, anyhow. Wetwork's my field."

"This is true." Six was silent for a moment. "Would you like to know what you are?"

The Dragon paused. "That sounds like it would take a while."

"Yes. I would not be able to complete a full recitation. At my best estimate, I would perish from thirst before completing ten percent of the complete description."

"That's...vaguely horrifying."

"Presumably. Nobody has informed me until now." He cocked his head. "Then again, nobody has inquired about the concept until now."

"That's because the only one who'd be curious enough to ask outright would be Vinci...and he already saw you do it, so I suppose he understands it perfectly, can replicate it on demand, and will probably be making some horrifying offense to the laws of nature and sanity so he can let other people do it. As per usual."

"This is true. And you have not answered the question."

Kaneki sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I know my nature, Six."

"And what do you believe it to be?"

Kaneki smiled. "Like you said. I am the Dragon, and my path is that of slaughter."

Six felt an unfamiliar expression tug at his face. "Yes," he said, "and more."


	64. Chapter 86

"I have several questions, and yet I feel all of them have the same answer," I say flatly, looking at the...vessel...that is bringing up the rear of our miniature armada.

"And what would that be?" Herman grunts.

"Sanity is dead."

"Ah, yeah, that would explain it." The blacksmith cocks his head. "Are those rocket engines?"

"One of the...what did Vinci call them, Cogs? Yeah, one of them went on over there last night. So, probably."

"On a raft."

"On a gigantic raft populated by what appears to be an escaped zoo and a particularly deranged zookeeper," I mutter, staring at the affront to shipbuilding and sanity that is Vulkan Lives's chosen vessel. "Again, sanity is dead."

"...I wonder at which point I'll be able to look at crap like this and just wave it off," Herman ponders.

"Probably by the time we reach Sabaody."

On board the floating menagerie, I see a large simian with a barrel of alcohol on its back slam a hairy fist on a large red button.

"Hopefully by the time we reach Sabaody," I amend as the raft soars over our miniature armada on wings of flame.

"Can't believe I'm working with him," Herman mutters as the craft splashes down next to Vespucci's nondescript little frigate. Nasty thing, that, laden with concealed gun ports and enough blood spilled on its decks that I could smell it from here. That it looked like a tiny, harmless courier vessel just made the irony all the more delicious.

"Hey, we need more than one person working on the armor. Over a thousand suits don't just appear overnight."

"Nor do they get painted and differentiated properly overnight. Every _fucking_ crew wants a different set of colors, and some of them are fighting over who gets what."

"Well, that strikes me as kind of ridiculous." I pause. "We're still the only ones with white, right?"

Herman sighs. "Yes, Kaneki, we are."

"Good."

"Why did you ask for that, again?"

"Mostly because it'll annoy the shit out of the Marines to see super-soldiers wearing their colours shooting at them."

"Oh, so it's you being a pain in the ass."

"I have exactly three personality traits, and that's one of them."

"And what, exactly, are the other two?"

"Homicidal possessiveness and blistering self-hatred," I quip back, grinning.

Herman grunts. "You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Would I be part of this crew if I wasn't?"

Herman just growls in response, and I laugh. "Cheer up, dogman. You'll finish up the work before the week is out, and then you'll get to see it bury Kid and his bastards in iron and fire."

"Yeah. Good thing the Cogs figured out how to copy the captain's little trick, otherwise the armor would just get us all killed." He made a gripping motion. "Just...squish."

"Stop."

"Like watermelons."

"Seriously, please stop."

"What, you're suddenly squeamish?"

"No, I just feel dwelling on the fact that Kid can kill armies with a thought really isn't productive." I pause. "I went back to where he crucified them, before we left."

"And?"

"There'd been something bugging me, some scent...I'm pretty sure he recruited a ghoul. Doesn't smell like me, C, or the Oni, but only a ghoul reeks like that scent did."

"Fuck."

"Hell, I'm probably going to have to fight the damn thing. That worries me."

"Morally, or in the 'how do I kill this thing' way? Because I've heard good things about fire…"

"Oh, trust me, he's sailing with _Kid_ , that'd put him on my murder list even if he wasn't a ghoul and thus responsible for at least two dozen murders per year of his life. No, it's the putting him down permanently that worries me. If I'm indicative of what ghouls can do...pushing us into a corner just makes things worse."

"So prepare for there not to much town left standing, and possibly needing to dunk you into the ocean again, got it," Herman retorts. "Maybe we should just let Lauren set it on fire when it shows up. That'd probably put it down."

"Let's put 'unleash ever-burning hellfire' in the last resort column, okay?" I say, sweatdropping. The patch of burning ocean had still been on fire when we'd set sail. I'm still fairly certain Lauren had accidentally bound a demon into the flamethrower or something of that nature - the tattoos at the very least pointed in the direction of 'I have magic and no idea what I'm doing'. Were demons a thing here? Ah, I'd probably find out eventually. "Decapitation won't work, the body still lives and it'll grab the head…"

Herman gives me a look of horror.

"What? Old Man Zoss was both thorough in training and a tremendous asshole," I say calmly, puffing at my pipe. "Between that and what the captain's figured out...got a pretty good idea of what can't put me down, and a plan for what can."

"And that plan is?"

"Well, I'm gonna eat him."

Herman facepalms. "That's your answer to everything."

"Hey, if it ain't broke, I'm not gonna try to fix it. Besides, even I can't come back from being rendered down to liquid and devoured." Probably. Scaley might take offense to such a thing.

 _I would eat them from the inside out and allow us both to puppet their form._

Yeah, that was Plan B, if we somehow lost the fight.

 _Oh, so it's we now. I thought you were planning on shutting me out entirely save for when you needed power._

You can listen in, scaley, you know the talk I had with Six.

 _Ah, yes, the hierophant. So you actually paid attention?_

Yes. You're a part of me, like it or not, and it's time I started dealing with that. Doesn't mean I have to _like_ you.

 _Of course not, that would require you to accept everything about yourself, instead of papering it over with a facade of indifference._

Fuck off, lizard.  
"Hey, Kaneki, you listening?"

I pause, then shrug. "Sorry. Was thinking."

"More planning?"

"Of a sort."

"God, you and the captain really are peas in a pod. How many paranoid contingencies have you come up with?"

I grin at Herman. "Not paranoia if they are out to get you. And shouldn't you be working?"

"Nah. Convinced the blacksmith working for the guys with the way-too-similar name to take a load of the work."

"By 'convinced' you mean 'glared meaningfully at while holding a sword'."

"Of course, how else was I going to get him to do the job?"

* * *

".-. .-. .- .. ... . / -... . / ..- -. - - / - ... . / - .- -.-. ... .. -. . -..- / .. - / .- -.-. - ..- .- .-.. .-.. -.- / .- - .-. -.- ... .-.-.-"

Vinci frowned. "Of course it works. I trust Lauren's designs implicitly."

"... ... . / .. ... / -.- ..- .. - . / ... -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / .. -. / - ... . / - .- -.- .. -. -. / - ..-. / - ... .. -. -. ... .-.-.-" the Cog replied, shuffling awkwardly underneath its red robe. They - it was functionally impossible to tell gender with them, anymore - regarded the rotary cannon the Nightmare gunner had created out of one of the Sirins with what Vinci was beginning to recognize as something close to religious awe. "... ... . / .. ... / -.- ..- .. - . / ... -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / .. -. / - ... . / - .- -.- .. -. -. / - ..-. / - ... .. -. -. ... .-.-.-"

"You've got a few who've got the raw strength to carry the things, so yes, I intend for your people to use them. Mobile artillery is always a plus."

The Cog nodded. ".. / ... ... .- .-.. .-.. / .. -. ..-. - .-. - / - ... . - .-.-.-"

"Good. Any progress on getting the rest of the fleet up to par?"

The Cog shrugged, something under their robe whirring fitfully. Vinci snorted. "Yeah, I get it. Also, duck."

The Cog threw itself to the floor just in time to avoid the flying body. The man - mutton chops, yellow heavy armor, a Jolly Roger of a clenched fist surrounded by bones: Makaik Kammak, Captain of the Fortress Pirates - muttered something about a lemon being a mighty fruit and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

Vinci glanced at the lower deck, where Kaneki was sparring with a half-dozen of the captains.

They were losing. Badly. As Vinci watched, the Butcher Bird swayed around a haymaker from Macdonald Junior. A kick to the back of the knee unbalanced the Knockout captain long enough that he couldn't dodge when Tyson Crockett launched himself at Kaneki and missed (again). Both went sprawling, and in the half-second it took the two to recover, Kaneki bypassed them, closing the distance between him and Mez Bubo almost faster than Vinci's eyes could track.

The gas-masked captain of the Miasmic Pirates barely had time to raise his grenade launcher to block before Kaneki punched him across the deck. That left two - the almost impeccable Vickers Wellington, and the walking mummy that was Ellison Carver. The latter jinked to the side, trying to close, while the former…

Vinci felt something stir in his heart as the captain of the Teatime Pirates summoned what appeared to be a dragon of steam, sending it flying at Kaneki with a wave of his sabre. An intriguing Devil Fruit, the Steam-Steam Fruit. The amount of control Wellington displayed was admirable.

Kaneki dodged the steam dragon, which dissolved into an amorphous cloud for a brief moment - before reforming into a lion that charged the ghoul. The beast's claws lashed out, and Kaneki's skin parted like paper, red spraying briefly as blood and fat suddenly boiled. Kaneki just laughed, and leapt for Wellington, taking him down with a flying kick that Vinci couldn't even _see._

Now that was impressive. How was he managing that, without manifesting wings? Shatterpoints formed in Vinci's vision, finding weaknesses, and his grin widened. Clever.

Each of the active node clusters in Kaneki's back produced a slightly different strain of C-cell, releasing them into the body. Typically, those produced in the nodes at his lower back - which produced cells that were significantly more effective at the digestive and, via constructing microscopic denticles, assault portions of the C-cell's duties - dominated in Kaneki's body...but now he was drawing on the other set. The constructs that could be formed were significantly more brittle, far less of the cells being spent there, and the reinforcements to his skin and tissues suffered as well - but they wound themselves around deep muscle and bone, carried themselves in his arteries and veins, enhancing his speed and agility, if not his durability. And Kaneki was taking advantage of that...without breaking the self-imposed challenge of not using tendrils or wings.

Cheating in a way that wouldn't be caught. Very piratical.

Only Carver remained, but if the bandaged captain was concerned, he didn't show it. Kaneki stalked towards the man, cracking his knuckles, and still he didn't react. He wasn't even looking in the same direction. Was he an idiot, or did he have some sort of ability to shut down Kaneki in close combat? If so, why hadn't he used it in the beginning? Was he trying to figure out the abilities of his newfound allies?

Carver snored audibly.

Ah. Idiot, then.

Kaneki grimaced. "Okay, I could punch him, but that just feels wrong," he said. "Anyone got a ten-foot pole?"

* * *

The ship was quiet, but Lauren was awake.

She knew the drill, by this point.

Nightmares - fire, this time, and the marching dead - passed, with time. She took them and spun them into chemical creations, an ounce of the terror she felt in those horrible dreams spread to entire companies of men, one grenade at a time.

And now the ship was quiet, only those on night watch around. The seas had been unusually calm - for the Grand Line, at least - and while that was probably going to drive poor Pucci into fits of paranoia eventually, the navigator seemed almost relieved for the moment. Nothing to occupy her mind beyond the cigarette in her hand and the distant lights of other vessels.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised when she caught sight of Six, approaching abnormally silently with a tray in hand.

"Well, three for three, then," she said quietly, leaning back on the rail and facing the cook.

Six's face was blank. "Out of what?" he asked.

Oh, yeah. The questions. Every day, she saw him asking _someone_ a question, often about the most basic of topics, but sometimes just...weird. Hell, she swore she'd heard him asking one of the crew about _fashion tips_ , of all things!

Well, she supposed this question was normal enough. _She_ was the one spouting weirdness.

"It feels like a pattern, is all. I get worse nightmares than usual, and when I come out on deck, I find the…" She paused, then decided Six probably wasn't capable of being offended. "The least human of the crew waiting for me, ready to talk. Guess I'm the monster translator."

Six tilted his head slightly, a bare fraction of a degree, and offered the tray. On it were two things. The first was a mug of tea. The second was an ashtray.

Lauren took the hint, and stubbed out her cigarette, before taking the tea. It smelled amazing, and tasted even better. "So, got anything to say? Something weird but profound from your perspective, that's supposed to make me think about my own life?"

"The Captain is the profound one. I am merely the Cook," Six said neutrally. "For now, at least."

"What, you going to metamorphosize into someone else?"

"Perhaps. That depends on what I want. And what I want...I am still determining." He hummed softly for a moment. "What is it you desire?"

"Why?"

"I do not ordinarily... _want_ things. But Kaneki...he believes that is an important part of living. And he is the Dragon, he must be correct."

Lauren suppressed a smirk at that. Poor guy had it bad.

"So I ask. Try to see what other people want. To...understand."

"Is _that_ why you were asking someone about color matching earlier?"

"It seemed an odd topic to be obsessive about. I was not certain if it was something I should know."

"Probably not. You don't seem like the fashionable type."

Six's expression turned ever-so-slightly mulish. "I _like_ my jacket. It is comfortable."

"Oh, inferencing. Kaneki'll make a real boy out of you yet."

"It appears that deflecting from questioning with humor is a common trait amongst this crew, then."

Well, _that_ stung. Worse, because he had a point.

"What I want…" She paused. Flames flashed through her mind, the rattle of guns and the scent of cordite. "Got a good part of that already, but it seems like a stolen dream. Not really...mine. My guns'll change the face of war, but... well, that's done. What next?" She frowned, fingers tapping on the mug. "What do I desire...you aren't the first to ask, you know?"

"The Captain?"

"Yeah. We were heading up Reverse Mountain, he's laughing like a madman, and it kickstarted this whole...thing. Anyway, what I said then...I said I wanted to never be afraid." She grimaced. "Not having much luck, there."

"Fear is an ingrained response to danger. Losing it, especially prior to combat, would not be advisable."

"And yet I'll keep trying to arm and armor myself enough so I never want to feel it. Whether through my own creations, or someone else's." She sighed, feeling a second heart beat alongside the first.

Part of her hated the reliance, the admission of weakness that it seemed to be. The rest of her, the pragmatic part, had beaten the hating one over the head with the fact that they were going into combat with a pirate who had taken on a Logia and walked away singing until the hating part was curled up into the fetal position, insensate. "What I want...not an end to fear. That's something I said before I figured out what it was." She smiled over her mug of tea, as shapes coalesced out of the shadows, two dozen figures in cloaks and hoods and skull-faced masks looming in the dark. As one, the Wraiths knelt soundlessly.

"What I want, Six...I want to _be_ fear."

Something stirred in the waters beyond the ship. A scaled head pushed through the ocean, looming over the rail. A Sea King.

Lauren smiled at it.

The Sea King vanished back beneath the waves.

Lauren turned her attention back to Six. "Does that answer your question?"

"I believe it does."

* * *

Tartarus was silent.

"Trap?" Brother asked.

"Trap," Vinci confirmed. "Let's spring it."

"Dibs on the ghoul."

C grinned. Despite the fact that the island smelled like death and sulfur (he blamed the smoking volcano on the island for that), this was going to be _fun._

A slaughter, of course, of both sides, but that was what happened when the Captain got golden-glowy-murdervoice levels of pissed off.

The two dozen ships of the Hunt pulled up to the docks. Only one other vessel had been there before - it looked pretty ugly, covered in metal and blunt like a hammer.

C didn't like it.

"Huh. The _Iron Tramp's_ empty. C, if you would?" Vinci asked.

C grinned, reached out with his powers, and yanked _hard_.

The galleon-sized ironclad sailed through the air and landed in the crater of the volcano.

Neat.

He'd been aiming to clear the island, but neat.

The various crews started disembarking, and C followed Brother down the gangplank, a bunch of Augments following them (and the Oni, too, but they were more a shadow to him and Brother at this point, always there).

It was in utter silence that everyone proceeded down the largest street they could find.

Nobody was home.

C frowned. "Brother, what does the enemy look like?"

"They're pirates, C, they look like assholes."

"We're pirates."

Brother considered. "Smaller assholes. Because literally two-thirds of our guys are eight-foot-tall war machines."

C nodded. That was fair. Besides, all the Augments smelled a little like the Captain.

"Okay, but what about the people on the island?"

"The Demon Tribe makes a lot of weapons and armor, I think they'll be armored up if they really are planning to fight us. I mean, forcing them to fight us _feels_ like something Kid would get up to, if he didn't just kill them all."

"Oh, okay."

"Why?"

"Well, the Captain trained me to use my power to sense magnetic stuff. And there's about two thousand people's worth of armor in the square ahead and the rooftops."

"God fucking damn it."


	65. Chapter 87

They made a pretty sight, Vinci would admit.

He'd not yet had the opportunity to dissect one of the Demon Tribe, or even to read of such a thing - not even in the Necromonger's books. They kept to themselves, forging their weapons. Nobody made war with them, except the truly idiotic - and the truly idiotic died in droves, their fleets broken, their armies destroyed, and the captives (according to rumor) either eaten or sacrificed to the volcano gods.

And what faced them was the instrument of that destruction.

Rank upon rank upon rank of the Demon Tribe faced them, wielding halberd and pike. Larger specimens, ten or fifteen feet tall, stood behind them, great crossbows in hand with quarrels that could core a frigate loaded. Armored soldiers with normal crossbows lined the rooftops on all sides. Good quality plate, better than anything a normal forge could turn out or most normal people could wear. Black as night, crude-looking, but it'd still turn aside bullets with an ease normal plate couldn't. All of them bore the black batlike wings of their kind to some degree.

Vinci looked at the army that had broken everything that faced it...and found himself disappointed.

Where were the cannons, the guns, the great machines?

Tartarus had forged iron for so long they'd become it, frozen like statue soldiers. Even as the Hunt made a formation to match theirs, they did not move.

An army fighting with ancient tactics from three centuries back, weapons from the same. Calcified, ancient, _arrogant._

Vinci's lips peeled back from his teeth. "So, you lot going to fight?"

Fifteen hundred pikes lowered as one.

That answered that.

"Push through," Vinci ordered, and Helios threw a sun at them.

Okay, not an actual sun, that would have destroyed the planet (Vinci reminded himself to make _absolutely certain_ Helios's Logia wasn't capable of that). But a sphere of light and heat, the size of a house, flew at Vinci's word. In an instant, a hole was smashed through the formation. Those on the edges of the attack fell, armor reduced to slagged metal, and buildings on both sides immediately burst into flame - and as for anything that the fireball hit, well, that simply ceased to exist. The sphere bored through the houses, continued forward - and then burst like a pricked bubble, a pillar of flame rocketing into the sky.

"Was it supposed to do that?" Vinci asked to a suddenly pale Helios.

Helios opened his mouth to answer, then started, staring at where the flames were guttering out. Vinci followed his gaze, and-

Mechanical left arm. Red hair. Goggles. Expression of dawning horror, even as he lowered his left arm, which was still crawling with the magnetic fields he'd no doubt used to deflect the blast.

Kid.

Vinci saw _red._

* * *

Kid wasn't an idiot; he booked it the second the flare dissipated, running down the abandoned streets as all the captains started screaming for his blood.

How the _hell_ had Grigori gotten all those crews together? He'd _crippled_ them, beyond what even a master surgeon could fix in a month, and yet here they stood. An army, and unless Kid missed his guess every single one of that army was juiced to the eyeballs with whatever bullshit Grigori could pull together.

No matter. He'd thought Grigori, if he brought anyone, would revive one, maybe two of the crippled bastards at worst, probably copy that trick of his that had let him beat his Devil Fruit power...twenty and all their crews would be tricky, but he had backups. And the Demon Tribe, what was left of them in their armor, would hold off the crews, the captains coming right for him already. The battle was already starting, he knew.

He dodged to the left as a blast of steam ripped through the air, scattering cobblestones. He lashed out with his flesh hand, and a frission of magnetic fields tore the thing apart, scattering atoms. Another corner rounded - the biggest of his contingencies was just ahead. Might stop the bleeding hearts, might not, but it didn't matter. He'd packed loaded for bear, for this. He was stronger, but last time he underestimated Grigori in a fight he'd lost an arm.

Would it be enough to deal with _all_ these captains? Maybe, maybe not.

A grin split Kid's face.

This would be close. One win, one loss...now it could go either way. Made his blood thrum.

Grigori would die last. As for his crew…

What the Demon Tribe's remnants couldn't put down...Killer had a solution for. Even the ghoul. And Kid would make sure Grigori understood just how _badly_ he'd failed to kill his dream.

* * *

It was complete bloody chaos, and part of Lauren hated herself for revelling in it.

The rest of her?

The rest of her was doing the revelling.

The Wraiths had taken to the rooftops in moments, scattering the crossbowmen with grenades and quick slashes to throat and hamstring and anything else that wasn't fully covered by plate. Mail was at those places, but the blades of the Wraiths were sharp and their limbs stronger than anything normal, and so armored soldiers fell, bleeding black.

There was the minor issue of the fact that they got back up, but Lauren was still having her fun. She leaned back from a clumsy swing of an iron cleaver, laughed, and pulled the trigger. Casull barked, and the upper third of the soldier's body ceased to exist, the shrapnel fragments ripping into the two men behind her target as a bonus. The smoking torso and legs remained upright for a moment before clattering to the rooftop, and Lauren moved on to the wounded in moments. They fell just as quickly as the first, buying her a moment of breathing room and some space at the edge of her rooftop. She turned to the wider battle going on below. "WIGHT RULES, CUT OFF THEIR LIMBS!" she shouted.

"WE FUCKING KNOW!" came the answer from the Nightmares.

They were having fun, too. Pikes and armor really didn't cut it against explosive-tipped bullets big around as a man's fist, nor against the sheer angry murder-machine-ness that the Huscarls were capable of unleashing under Herman's direction. The sheer pain-in-the-ass-ness of their opponents was pretty much the only reason this fight wasn't over.

She ducked just in time for a kick to pass through the space where her head had been, and glared at the offender.

Which was the torso and legs she'd just put out of commission. It raised one limb in some ornate martial arts pose.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she breathed, kneecapping the thing and removing its legs in the process. At least the two wounded she'd left didn't have any limbs…

She stepped to the side, neatly avoiding a crossbow bolt.

Oh. Right. Ongoing battle.

She grinned, and her guns thundered.

* * *

Herman was, to put it bluntly, rather pissed off.

But hey, he'd found someone actually using a weapon worth the iron that went into it.

Amakatta slammed into the ornate cleaver his opponent wielded, and the shockwave knocked men off their feet on both sides. Strength on his part, sheer stubbornness on his opponent's. Dead bastard hadn't even noticed the loss of an arm, after all.

Herman's lips peeled back from his teeth as the blade-lock broke, him taking a step back and the dead bastard unmoving. Amakatta growled along with him.

On all sides, the Huscarls, his Huscarls, were fighting, the shield-bearing Wolves holding the line. Pikes shattered on their shields, their guns broke men with ease, their swords and axes rent iron plate apart, but against the dead they were only just holding the line.

The dead bastard was hard, right enough - lamellar armor covered him from head to toe, and the cleaver in his hands sang with bloodlust. Not a Name, not yet, but the forging and the deeds would make it so in time. Another Graded sword, to add to the many. Another life frozen in steel and scabbard.

He needed to reassess. It was time for a new trick, one the old man and his odd son had taught him through the making of sword and axe and armor.

Herman took another step back, then another, and behind him the Huscarls parted, men moving out of the way as he held Amakatta horizontally behind him. The dead bastard raised its cleaver in defence, fearing a charge, and Herman's smile became an ugly thing.

"Forged armor, forged blades, forged life, all made by hammer and will, let it be unmade by same," he said calmly, centering his footing and breathing deep, using the cadence as focus. Muscle tensed. " _Shatter._ "

He swung, and metal broke with a scream of abortion.

* * *

Vespucci ran.

Was he the only sane person left? All the other captains had run off screaming after Kid, which was... incredibly stupid, to put it bluntly. Just asking to get trapped.

Him?

He hung back until everyone present had finished ripping, stomping, shooting, and otherwise obliterating the remaining Demon Tribe...zombies? Something like that. Then he'd signalled the closest people present - the Nightmare officer with the tonfa, the two Zoan users who followed that golden-robed captain, Keita, around like bodyguards, and a detachment of the odd clockwork people - to follow him, and booked it for the ships. He could say they were reinforcing the ship's guards, wary of another trap or ambush. It'd make him look slightly paranoid, but not cowardly, and that was important.

So, naturally, when they'd headed back down the street the sounds of battle around the ships had reached their ears, and everything had gone to shit.

He threw himself forwards, barely dodging a swinging cleaver, and stabbed a knife into the back of a zombie's knee as he rolled back onto his feet. The zombie ignored it, but Vespucci was free of the melee and then -

 _BRRRRRRRRTTTT._

The undead half of the melee dissolved into shattered pieces of armor, zombie bits, and a lot of half-coagulated blood, a great deal of which splattered on Vespucci, because of course.

"Do you possess a deathwish?" the machine-person responsible chirped, the barrels of the huge rotary gun welded onto its shoulder smoking gently. The metallic limbs extending from its back retracted from where they'd braced the cyborg against the ground.

"Oh, fuck off," Vespucci said tiredly. "If I wanted to die, would I be here?"

"Given the properties of most of the crews in this alliance, 89.4% probability that you would."

Vespucci paused, then shrugged. "It's not like my pistol's accomplishing much. Sword's the way to go," he said, keeping his voice even.

"You require a larger weapon. Perhaps you should replace an arm with a lightning gun."

 _CRACKA-THOOM!_

Vespucci very determinedly did not flinch as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw several dozen zombies become little more than ash under the lashing coils of electricity launched from another one of the machine-men.

"I'll pass," he said, trying very hard not to think of losing a limb to the Cog's...attentions.

"Hey, you understand what the hell they're saying?" someone else asked. Vespucci turned, and prevented himself from startling at the appearance of one of Keita's bodyguards. The hyena Zoan loomed in half-beast form, the outsized scimitar-like sword in his hand dripping with half-coagulated blood.

Vespucci blinked. "You don't?"

"No, of course I...eh, fuck it. You sure your Devil Fruit doesn't give you weird knowledge?"

"It lets me navigate. Nothing more."

"Yeah, sure, you knew that these undead fucks were sending reinforcements to fuck us up, _and_ you can talk with these clockwork fucks, and all it does is give you navigational tips." The hyena-man grinned. "Sure, I get it, lips sealed. Just keep giving us fights like this, mate."

Vespucci kept his spine straight under the predator's gaze. "I am fairly sure," he said flatly, "that that's your captain's job."

The hyena's lips peeled back from his teeth, before the Zoan threw his head back and laughed. "Fair enough, little guy, fair enough. Eh, we finished off this lot, let's go find some more."

Of course the damn warmongers wanted to go fight some more. Vespucci raged inwardly as he smiled widely. "Let's. If we can sweep the shoreline-"

He stepped back as a piece of armor flew through the air.

Followed by more.

Followed by _all_ of them, floating over the rooftops and congregating…

Near where Kid and the other murderous nutjobs had all run off to. Of course.

"On second thought, we should probably deal with that," he said mildly. With any luck, the fight would be over by the time they got there.

* * *

Euclid Siegfried knew, the moment that Kid stopped running, that they'd just walked into a trap. And so the ex-Krieger halted, assessing the square they'd found themselves in. It was an unremarkable plaza, a dead end with the only other exit beyond the street they'd just entered through being what looked like the entrance to a large warehouse, a large door of corrugated steel blocking it. No other doors, no alleyways - the buildings packed close here. And the cobblestones were loose - poor footing. Not a good place to make a stand.

Siegfried's mind spun into overdrive as Kid skidded to a halt, spinning around to face his pursuers and nonchalantly deflecting a bullet with his cybernetic hand in the process. "Ah, ah, ah...not one more step. I mean, you guys actually bother giving a shit about these little bastards, don't you?"

The warehouse door fell off its hinges with a earth-shaking bang, and Euclid found himself...disappointed.

Oh, the terrified children being held in place over an array of metal spikes by metal restraints clearly only being held up by Kid's Devil Fruit abilities was probably intended to be shocking, but if Kid really thought some snivelling brats would restrain this group from taking their revenge, he had another thing coming.

"See, this is how it goes. My control's the only thing keeping this bunch alive and unimpaled. Hit me, and who knows, it might slip. Wouldn't that be a -"

The tall preacher, Jeremiah, threw something at Kid, who caught it. A burnished circle of steel mounted on a short wooden handle shone in the sun.

"Is this a fucking pizza cutter?" Kid asked.

"It is appropriate, as you appear to be all edge and no point," the preacher replied in an entirely dignified tone. Siegfried suppressed a smile.

Kid went a truly interesting shade of red. "You little-"

"C. Usurp," Grigori ordered, and the masked ghoul at his side nodded silently. Whatever he did, it made veins stand out on Kid's neck.

"I'M GONNA-"

"Second Gear."

Grigori vanished from his previous position. Kid turned to the left, reacting to something Siegfried couldn't see.

" _Full-body Electrical Trauma."_

Thunder sounded out of a clear sky, and Kid went flying, slamming into the side of one of the buildings and leaving a crater. Grigori stood where Kid had been, in some odd martial arts pose, before slowly returning to a normal standing position.

"Is that it?" Diceros Keita asked, the dark-skinned Zoan folding his arms over his golden robes.

Kid's fingers twitched. The pirate smiled. "Mistake."

Siegfried felt every instinct scream a warning, his second heart thundering alongside the original.

As he _stepped_ out of reality, the jaws of the trap sprang closed, and the earth exploded.

* * *

They were, Pravilno decided, doing pretty well for two people and three weird animals.

Well enough, at least, that the Kid Pirates had run out of zombie-things.

Pravilno swayed around a swung sledgehammer, fired twice to drop the attacker with a brain splattered across the cobblestones, and then sent three tendrils of cloth lancing out. Each grabbed a Kid Pirate by the neck, and tightened quickly. Cracks sounded, and Pravilno let the corpses drop.

A large _boom_ marked the end of Ostavila's opponents - her weapons, charged with her Devil Fruit ability, were terrifying - at about the same time a burst of screaming cut short signalled the end of whichever poor bastards had to deal with the mutts. That left all of them a bit of quiet, and a lot of actually-dead corpses. In fact…

"Hey," he called over to Ostavila. "I think this is pretty much Kid's entire crew." He recalled the strips of cloth, winding them back around his body. "Where the heck's Killer?"

One of the hounds, further down the street, shrieked in pain before collapsing in a spray of blood.

"Well fuck."

"I actually tolerated these people," a voice declared.

Pravilno whirled, searching for the source of the voice before finding Killer, standing on a rooftop. Blood dripped from the blades of the scythes in his hands.

"And of course, you killed them," Kid's second said, in an utterly flat voice. "Pity. I was expecting Kaneki, but...you'll do."

A knife thudded into the tiles at Killer's feet, and the thin man looked down. "Was that supposed to-"

The knife exploded, and acting on instinct, Pravilno lanced out with as many strips of cloth as he could in every direction. He hit _something_ , but it was gone before he retracted the cloth.

"Interesting."

Ground level, farther down the street. Only a small rip in Killer's clothes betrayed the fact that Pravilno had hit him, damn it.

"Those are just cloth, but I can't seem to cut them."

"Devil Fruit," Pravilno answered.

Killer shrugged. "Understandable. But it relies on you being able to attack me with what you have on your body, doesn't it?"

Pravilno grinned under his bandages, and let a few more strips of cloth wave behind him menacingly as he heard Ostavila take out her kusari-gama. "Still fast enough to catch -"

Without finishing, he snagged control of the clothing of the two corpses nearest Killer, fashioning makeshift rope in an instant that grabbed the man by the wrists. Killer struggled against the bonds for a moment, failing to budge the fabric that was, temporarily, stronger than steel, then cocked his head as a deep _thrum_ ming sound began to fill the air.

The blunt weight of Osta's kusari-gama, already glowing, slammed into the man's head, and a massive explosion filled the air, shredding the bonds - and presumably Killer.

Pravilno relaxed an inch, lowering the pistol in his hands - and then raising it again as the dust settled and Killer walked forwards. His mask was cracked wide open, and under it -

"Oh, _hell_ no," Pravilno said, as both of the hounds began to growl.

"Yes," Killer said simply, as his scythes began to spin.


	66. Chapter 88

Things, Mez Bubo thought bleakly, could be going a lot better.

Not for the first time, he regretted his Devil Fruit. Sure, the Mist-Mist Fruit was great if you needed to blanket an area in toxins, but he couldn't _do_ that right now, because some of these idiots would die, and if that happened Grigori would probably rip his head off. Even a precise attack was risky, with what Kid was throwing around.

" _Magnetar!"_

Bubo dodged to the left, avoiding the rapidly moving tornado of metal - metal the bastard had pulled from _under the fucking cobblestones_ , the prick- by inches, feeling the wind pull at his longcoat. Too close, and Kid's attention wasn't even on him.

" _Shambles!"_

The universe blurred for a moment, and Bubo found himself on the edge of a roof. He stepped back hurriedly, glaring over his shoulder at the Surgeon of Death, who already looked fit to drop.

Ah, hell, at least it gave him a good view of the fight below.

It _really_ wasn't going well.

Kid's opening move after Grigori had punched him into a wall had been to rip enough metal to arm a medium-sized army out of the ground, and throw it basically _everywhere_. He could just about make out the cyborg's form behind the rotating cylinder of metallic scales that surrounded him. And a half-dozen more man-sized storms were spaced around him, tearing up the earth as they chased down others.

One nearly hit Grigori, and the Nightmare captain blinked out of existence for a moment, before reappearing directly above it with a lightning-covered scythe raised. Bubo covered his eyes to avoid being blinded by the flash, but opened them again the moment it'd passed to see a pile of inert, half-molten metal, and a very annoyed-looking Grigori sprinting for Kid.

Kid threw a minotaur at him.

Bubo winced as the minotaur smacked Grigori right off his feet, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a heap. Diceros Keita looked like he'd been run through a blender, the Cape Buffalo Zoan seemingly content to lay there and bleed quietly. Grigori got to his feet, snapping a dislocated or broken arm back into place with a crack and a snarl, only to blink out of reality again as a massive metal fist cratered the ground where he'd been standing.

Bubo _really_ wanted to know how the hell he did that. Biology only explained so much, and if there was some way to freaking _teleport_ without a Devil Fruit he probably would've heard about it before.

The half-molten remnants of the tornado Grigori had destroyed began to move again, and Bubo sighed.

Of course.

His eyes flicked to the warehouse. Good. Macdonald and that freaky masked fucker had gotten the kids out, at least, he could see the boxer leading the last of them through a rear entrance -

And Kid was throwing one of the metal storms at them. Well, it was nice while things lasted.

"FOR FRIENDSHIP!"

What the actual fuck?

Vulkan Lives leapt out of _freaking_ _nowhere_ , and blocked the storm. With his torso. Blood went absolutely everywhere, but the insane black giant did not falter, massively muscled arms reaching out and grasping tight.

There was a cracking noise, and the storm subsided, inert metal clattering to the ground. There was a moment of utter silence, as Bubo contemplated the fact that he probably had just seen someone hug a magnetic field to death.

"Mez," a voice said to his side, as the chaos resumed, a metal-festooned Lives being hurled across town with an irate gesture from Kid and the remaining five storms grinding back into motion. One was restrained for an instant as golems rose out of the earth to block it, that instant long enough for Yeager's personal golem, Manson Havran, and Lytros Jeremiah to fall back. Another shattered on the implacable stone of Makaik Kammak's walls, the barriers folding around the yellow-armored captain and forming an impenetrable dome as the innumerable tiny blades buried it. Two more circled close, diverting a steam dragon from Wellington and a bear made out of ink by that ex-slave Baskonn to crash into each other.

The last configured itself into a tentacle, grabbed Tyson Crockett by his cone-shaped head, and hurled the man face-first into a building, which split in half.

"Mez."

Bubo blinked, and glanced at Siegfried. The albino ex-Krieger glared at him. "Good. Can your Devil Fruit produce something that explodes when heated?"

Bubo paused. "Maybe. Got a plan?"

The ex-Krieger smiled thinly. "Always." He paused as Law Shambles'd Keita's unconscious form onto the back of their little safe haven, joining some of the others who had been less lucky or who hadn't had the right powers to try to take on what Kid was dishing out. Which was a good third of the captains. "Right. Trafalgar, can you get Yeager, Manson and Helios here?"

"One...moment…" Law gritted out, before falling to one knee, leaning on his scabbarded sword for support. The other two captains appeared with a crack of displaced air (and displaced roof tiles, Bubo noticed), and Law collapsed.

Shit. He was the only doctor who wasn't currently - Bubo checked on the ongoing fight - throwing lightning bolts at a cocoon of metal with one hand while drinking from a bottle of something he could smell the spirits off of from here with the other.

"Well, that is inconvenient," Siegfried said in a tone like someone had brewed his tea improperly. "Manson, kindly see to the wounded."

"You do realize that I am not a doctor?" the other albino protested.

"Yes. Your Devil Fruit lets you change emotions, yes? Give them rage and throw them at Kid."

"...Alright, I'll get on that."

"Bubo, how much range can you manage?"

Bubo cocked his head. "Not much. Not if you want this contained."

"Hm. It will have to be enough." The Krieger pulled a carbine from under his greatcoat, cocking the bolt with practiced ease. "As much explosive mist as you can manage, as close to him as possible. Helios, spark it. The berserkers will cover you. Yeager, pull them free before Helios lights it."

And just like that, they had a plan. Bubo leapt off the rooftop, tucking and rolling, and even as he closed the distance he was already sorting through what he could do. The Mist-Mist Fruit was useful in the right hands, but he was still limited in the fact that it still had to be _mist_ , and what…

Ah. Petroleum, gassified, droplets suspended. A fuel-air explosive, to crack Kid's shell.

But he still had to get close enough to gather it, and whirling metal was closing in.

Howls of rage sounded behind him, then beside him, and then ahead as the berserkers charged in. Keita, Elric, Carver, Bubbles, John, Attila, Thorakis, and Paulie. A minotaur, a charging bull, a wraith in bandages, an armored colossus, a laughing madman, a leaping centaur, a knight, and one very angry beard met the literal meat grinder, and forced it back for the briefest of moments, death missing Bubo by inches as an endless number of whirling blades found their homes in the flesh of others.

Forty meters. Grigori fell back, a last bolt of lightning splashing ineffectually on another storm.

Thirty. Another storm withdrew from Kammak's bunker, and whipped out at Bubo, only to stutter as the masked freak intervened, taking a tendril through the chest and laughing.

Twenty. Another storm blew through the last ranks of Yeager's golems, but Macdonald of all people stepped up, a blast from some black disc knocking it aside.

Ten. Bubo threw his hands up at the shell of whirling scales that surrounded Kid, and spewed forth vapor, a choking fog of it that shrouded the man's position in seconds. Then he threw himself back, feeling a burning line carve across his cheek as something of Kid's lashed out. He landed flat on his back, scrambling back for half a second before a hand latched onto his collar and he was airborne and tumbling through the air.

In the half-second glimpse he had of the cloud, he saw a small orb of heat and light slam into the sphere of vapor.

Then his vision went white.

* * *

It was easy enough to follow a trail, once the dead were, well, dead again.

The scent of C-cells, cloying and thick, but not me, not C, not the Oni, might as well have been a flag. A month ago, two, I wouldn't have been able to follow it, but my senses grew sharper by the day, same with my power. Every corpse, human or Sea King, added a little more, a few bare cells that were broken and remade to be _mine._

 _And this? This will be a feast._

I frown as I run along the rooftops. It's less a feast, and more the putting down of a rabid dog.

 _Yes, yes, cloak it however you please, it's only happenstance that ripping out said rabid dog's heart and feasting on its entrails will make you more powerful by far. Perhaps even enough of a sin to build the truth of your wings._

Nonsense again. I shut the dragon out, and keep running.

There's other scents on the air, now. Blood. Entrails. _Slaughter._

I cross over a street with one leap, crest a rooftop in a few steps, and I see what's responsible.

Three hounds, more wounds than flesh and bone, unmoving. Ostavila, her throat a red ruin, blood painting a wall. Her hands stretched out to Pravilno, sitting against the same wall with his hands pressed to his slit belly.

And Killer, standing among the carnage, scythes slick with blood. He turns to face me, and from the jagged crack in his mask I see crimson irises and black sclerae peer out.

 _Blue-white. This is something new, is it not?_

A mental command leashes the dragon, and my wings burst free. "How long?" I snarl, feeling my blood _literally_ start to simmer.

Killer cocks his head. "My whole life, of course." Spars of crystal punch free of his back, forming wings to match my own. "I don't get it," he says, in this flat tone that reminds me all too much of C. "How have the Shopkeepers not killed you yet? You're so...obvious. There's a dozen covenants and pacts we're held to, to keep us away from prying eyes, and yet you still live despite flaunting all of them. Even been given a new mask, and that implies they _support_ you, mad as that might be."

More words than I've ever heard from him, more things than I'm comfortable thinking about, more implications that I know will keep me up at night. I don't care. I crouch, wings twitching, watching Killer for the slightest speck of movement. "Maybe I'm too pretty for them to kill," I say mockingly. "Who knows?"

"Hmph. To spare something mad and feral like you, a risk to all of us...what are you?"

I don't answer. I just leap, faster than thought, wings lashing out with spines of crystal and bladed feathers as I land - and hit nothing but air. What -

 _Pain_ , as something lances through one of my wings and my chest, and then -

 _THOOM._

I think I lose consciousness for a moment, before I find myself on my back, right arm and wing and a good chunk of my chest missing. Already growing back, of course.

 _Are you ever going to get into a fight without being horribly injured?_

Shut up, you horrible old lizard. I leap to my feet, exchanging wings for tendrils in a heartbeat, and search for Killer - there, further down the street.

Explosives, then, how was he carrying -

Killer vanishes from sight, but lines carve themselves through the blood on the cobblestones, and I raise my tendrils just in time to feel something pin one to a wall. I don't give whatever explosive he's attacking with time to go off - a cut with another tendril frees me, and I leap away, swapping to wings again.

" _Butcher's Feathers."_

I'm not considerate of those dead or dying - indiscriminate fire is the way to go, and I let loose enough shards to cover the street. A snarl of pain and a lack of explosives trying to penetrate me is my reward, and I land to see Killer stumbling to one knee, flank stippled with shards. He whirls, scythes already turning, and this time I see his own wings lash out, sending shards the size of my arm flying towards me trailing smoke and flame. My own shards meet them halfway, and another explosion rips through the air, concealing him from sight. He bursts through a microsecond later, scythes swinging, but my wings meet them and I use the opening to headbutt him, the wooden mask cracking still further under the blow. He stumbles back, and I uppercut him with my just-regrown hand, the force of the blow tossing him onto his back.

"Get up," I snarl, feeling temperatures spike around me. "Get up, you bastard, I'm not done with you yet."

 _Kill him. Kill him now, before he -_

Killer vanishes again, and before I can raise my wings again I feel something hit me in the chest with the force of a train, sending me into a building. The wood breaks, and though my spine doesn't it still _hurts._

Then he's on me, and it's all I can do to put up arms and wings and weather the onslaught. Wings are first to go, followed by flesh and then bone and then -

And then it stops, because Killer's reeling back, restrained by bolts of cloth holding his arms back, a third yanking back on his head, and this time I don't hesitate.

I leap up, and use the only weapon I have at the moment, and my teeth rip into the ghoul's throat and snap his spine like a twig. Blood, richer and more potent than any other, fills my mouth, but I am not here to savor. Tendrils burst free and tear the ghoul to pieces as I turn my attention to what's actually important - Pravilno, slumping against the shattered storefront, blood pooling under him and the bandages he'd used to open Killer up for the kill flat on the ground.

 _Data input detected, accessing…_

"Did you...get him?" he pants, eyes closed.

"We did," I confirm. He doesn't have long. Not with the amount of blood he's lost, is still losing, and not with doctors so far away.

"Os...ta?"

"She's okay. Just like you will be," I say, trying to keep my voice level.

 _Novel iteration detected. Analyzing._

The bandages covering his face shift. "Liar," he says, not a condemnation but a reprimand all the same. "Sorry I... couldn't keep up."

"You did enough," I say gently. "Both of you."

 _Establishing conversion protocol._

"Ah, heh...I wonder, will this be...the last…" His voice trails off, his body slumps, and little by little, the blood stops dripping to the floor.

 _Conversion complete. Novel sequences recovered._

 _Beginning assimilation and repurposing...now._

And I scream as my blood turns to fire.

* * *

 _In a place that was not a place, a hill of white clover, a vulture plummeted from the cloudless sky._

 _The dragon swallowed it whole, and smiled in the third way, for now it knew what it faced._

 _The world was a cruel and heartless place._

 _The dragon was a creature to match it, and jealous and hateful beyond that._

 _It would guard the one who had made it, sink itself deeper with every stroke of knowledge and bitter self-hatred, hold itself close…_

 _Until they were made whole again._

 _Until acceptance._

 _Until they unmade the world of masks and shadows and secrets, in wrath and fury and slaughter, and birthed something new from the ashes. A new kingdom, a new home, a place to thrive and grow mighty and count the hoard of treasures mundane and mortal (and the latter infinitely more precious than the former) for an eternity of safety and dominion._

 _The dragon's smile widened, for it had a plan, and woe to those who opposed its maker or its master._

* * *

Vinci leaned on the haft of his scythe, considering.

The cocoon of half-melted metal that enfolded Kid made soft popping noises as it cooled. The various storms of metal had stopped, pieces falling to the ground. Everything indicated that Kid was dead, or at the very least unconscious.

He didn't believe that for a second. He wouldn't believe Kid was dead until he hacked the head off his corpse himself.

Maybe not even then.

"Grigori, the job's done, why are you still standing around?" Siegfried asked flatly.

He cocked his head, listening intently.

"Grigori, what are you-"

"And a three, a two, a one…"

The cocoon of metal exploded outwards. Vinci laughed, spinning his scythe and deflecting some of the fragments as Kid flopped onto the ground. He didn't look good - most of his skin was pink and peeling, and steam was rising from where the red-hot metal of his cybernetic arm met flesh. The steel appendage shattered a moment later, tossed aside, and Kid stood, fury in his eyes.

"I," he said in a completely dead voice. "Was planning to kill you slowly. But now? Now you're _annoying_."

There was a rattling noise in the distance, one that grew by the second, and within moments the sky began to darken as thousands of pieces of armor filled it.

Siegfried fired at Kid twice, and attacks from the others filled the air, but none of it so much as reached Kid as metallic scales leapt into the air to intercept and divert them.

" _Mass Kinetic Kills._ DIE!"

Metal rained down, accelerating far faster than gravity would permit, dragged by Kid's power.

Vinci sighed, and tapped the butt of his scythe on the ground. "Third Gear."

 _Ba-BUM-bum._

The newest of his hearts engaged, and with it the safeguards on the most potent of his abilities vanished.

Third Gear was an experiment. Second was intended for physical combat, but Third...Third was intended for massive esoteric work. Abilities that ordinarily couldn't be achieved without a powerful Devil Fruit, and that were only possible due to the combination of his inheritance of knowledge and his own unique experiences.

Part of this work relied on his scythe. He'd taken it to Herman's blacksmith mentor, once, curious if the use of his own electrical abilities on it had affected the temper. The old man had taken one look at it, smiled in a slightly unhinged way, and handed it back to him with a cryptic statement about never losing it, because making another channel would likely be difficult.

Vinci was still unsure what that meant, but he had noted that it was far easier to do what he was about to do if he used the scythe as a focus. Perhaps some property of the metal that he'd altered through exposure to his own bioelectricity?

He grinned as the metal rained down. " _Guard. Repel. Annihilate. Threefold Paths. Execute."_

It wasn't the name of a technique.

It was a _command_ to the universe, him pitting his will and his _hate_ against reality and for the briefest of moments convincing it to look the other way. Electrical generation paired with the displacement of energy and matter across dimensions and the sheer mental power required to visualize exactly what he needed, all for one brief, perfect instant of clarity.

Lightning wove a net above the battlefield, and the rain of metal slammed into it.

Only dust fell through, as it annihilated itself against his barrier.

Vinci fell to one knee as something broke inside him, the same power he'd harnessed turning against him, but he grinned wider still, and spat out a mouthful of golden-tinged blood at Kid's shocked expression.

"Go," he croaked, and the remaining captains burst into motion.

None of them so much as touched him. Attacks were swatted aside, people thrown away like toys, others left bleeding on the ground, as Kid stalked forwards, remaining hand clenching spasmodically. C tried to rip down Kid's defenses, but all it accomplished was a glare from the other redhead and an almost contemptuous gesture that slammed a dozen metal spears through him and hurled him into a wall. Vinci tried to get to his feet, but the technique had drained him too much and it seemed like moments before a hand was on his throat and-

* * *

C couldn't move.

He couldn't move and Kid was going for the Captain, was going to kill him, but he didn't have the power to stop him and-

The Captain was going to die, C was the only one who could do anything but he just wasn't strong enough, was never strong enough-

He couldn't, he couldn't fail, he wouldn't, he -

 _REFUSED._

Something cracked, the shards of his mask sliding free, and C laughed as at last he felt the truest part of him break free of where it had been growing all these months, a fine caress along his arms, whispering of power.

He was free.

* * *

-and blood splattered Vinci's face. He looked down, at the spike protruding from Kid's chest, then looked up at the expression of utter surprise on his enemy's face. Kid's hand left his throat, and Vinci's legs nearly buckled before he propped himself up on his scythe again.

The spike - the blade, actually, one attached almost seamlessly to C's shoulder, a gleaming and vibrant blue, its twin waving attentively alongside it - pulled itself out of Kid's torso with a wet sound, and the redheaded pirate's legs folded, dropping him to the ground.

For a moment, there was silence.

"Well," Vinci said, breaking it. "Good fucking riddance."


	67. Chapter 89

Three thousand, one hundred, and eight.

That was what Kid had taken from them.

Three thousand from the Demon Tribe, the full muster of that city's guards. One hundred and two from the Hunt, most of them those Vinci hadn't had time to Augment.

Six from the Nightmares, and that burned worse than usual.

And yet they all still stood (some a bit more limping or leaning on their fellows for support, but _standing_ ).

It'd been a full day after the battle before people had started reappearing in the city, popping up seemingly out of nowhere. _Apparently_ the city - which the Demon Tribe simply called 'the city' - was just the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. Kid had killed many, but the tunnels and caverns that extended far underground hadn't been touched...and judging from just how _many_ people had showed up, most of the Demon Tribe's population lived underground.

Another day had passed, as the members of the Demon Tribe gathered their dead...and those of the Hunt who had fallen, paying due where due was owed.

And now they gave to the dead what little they could.

Vinci gazed at the rows of bodies, each one covered by a white sheet, every single one of them placed atop a massive assemblage of wood and kindling.

The Demon Tribe burned their dead, on the slopes of the volcano, and that was the same farewell the fallen of the Hunt would receive.

He turned away, and regarded the audience. The Hunt, in all their myriad forms. The Demon Tribe, silent and solemn. Every one of them bore a lit torch.

"We are here," Vinci said, voice soft, but pitched to carry. "To pay what is owed to our dead. To remember them. They who fell to defend this island, and those who died in freeing it. They are gone, and we remain, but we will not forget." He smiled. "We will remember, for those whose stories are ended." He stepped away from the pyre. "Send them on."

Torches were put to kindling, and the fire caught, until the heat of the blaze washed over him, growing higher by the moment.

The Demon Tribe sang, a rough, musical language Vinci did not know the name of. A song of mourning and remembrance, and long prices sworn to be paid.

Vinci had no song to match it - music was not where his talents lay. But as he walked away from the pyre, he made an oath nonetheless.

 _Never again._ No enemy left alive to strike, no foe merely crippled when it was in his power to obliterate them.

The cost had been far too high, and he would not pay it again.

Somewhere on that pyre, two Devil Fruit users, three loyal hounds, and one of the Wolves burned.

* * *

Night's fallen, but the pyre still burns, and I'm still here.

As far as waking up after agonizing pain went, the latest experience was better than the one before. I hadn't woken up naked, for one.

As far as aftereffects…

I catch a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye, and dismiss it. It isn't real, I figured that out early on.

I sit, on a pile of stone near the pyre, and watch, and wait.

Things are, mercifully, quiet. The dragon does not speak. There are no birds, no forests, not here on the slopes of the mountain, and so the only sound is that of crackling flames and embers.

I draw in a breath, let it out, and reflect on how I cannot feel the heat of the flames or the cold of the night. On how my wings have grown again, something shifting under my skin that I don't quite understand. On a jumble of memory and knowledge and secrets that even now whispers to me.

"Six, they were," I say into the silence. "They bore no masks, for they needed none. Last and first, brothers all, monsters and myth. They walked in the shadows, those sons of the maker, and sowed bitter seed. As their task was, such is ours, now and forever, until the last born comes to return a kingdom to one. To hide, and hunt, and prosper, away from the eyes of the first immortal."

"An interesting story," Vinci replies, having walked silently to join me while I...to put it honestly, brooded. "Or is it a prophecy?"

"If so, it is one passed on and denied. It died nearly four decades ago," I say.

"Is that so?" Vinci muses, walking to the roaring pyre and lighting a cigarette off the flames. I offer my pipe, and he lights it with the tip of his own vice.

We wait, for a moment.

"What happened to you, Kaneki?" he asks. "What do you remember?"

"Another life," I breathe out. "From the beginning to the end. Fear. Hunger. Hope, as I found my first and only friend. The rules of my kind, stalking city streets at night, an eternity of watchfulness. Never daring to truly use what I could do. More of a life lived than I can remember for myself." I pause, another flicker of motion teasing at the edges of my vision. "Is it possible, to eat a man's soul with his body?" I ask.

Vinci exhales a cloud of smoke. "Two months ago, the notion of a soul would have seemed absurd," he confesses. "Part of it still does. But some mechanism exists, to exert will upon reality and have reality bend, so why not call it that?"

"Doesn't answer my question."

"Your...everything...seems to be primarily biological. I'd want to give you a checkup before resorting to 'souls did it' as an explanation. But this is the Grand Line, so why not? I've found myself capable of more than I thought, and so could you."

"Yeah, I heard. How the hell did you do that trick?"

"It was...easy." He pauses. "Almost disturbingly so." He chuckles. "I barely understand what I've put inside of myself, Kaneki. Most of it's the work of my parents, the theory at least. And that theory leapt onto the copies of your cells I made to give the King's Heart structure...far, far too simply. Like lock and key. And that frightens me, just a little."

"Welcome to the club of monsters, captain," I say softly, and Vinci laughs.

"Neither of us are that, Kaneki," he replies. "Even you. Just men."

"If you say so, captain. Where's the Oni? Would have expected them here, before you."

"They were watching." He pauses. "Still are, actually. Protective."

"Figures." I pull at my pipe, exhale a ring of smoke. "Still didn't explain how you did that. Making electricity, sure, but making a barrier that destroys metal? What's the biological mechanism for that?"

"What are Devil Fruits capable of, but strange effects that create and destroy energy and matter with feckless disregard for the laws of physics?"

I stare. "You didn't."

"Didn't what? I merely observed as some of our own fought and sparred and tested their abilities...and when Clare died, I saw the unfolding of that miracle of hers as well. And my eyes see more and more every day."

"And what you see, you can copy…"

"Not, of course, without cost. There are _rules_ to the universe, and while Devil Fruits bend them more than most, even they make their users pay a price. A fixed one, for a fixed power...so I balanced the scales my own way. A price proportionate to what I do, paid anew each time."

"You aren't talking much sense, Captain."

"In exchange for flexibility in what I create or destroy, reconstruct or deconstruct, I pay the price out of my own flesh and blood each time I use such power. More than once a day would kill me, and I'm not strong enough to stand after...but it's a fair bargain."

"By which you mean you mugged the universe for power."

"Fair for me."

"Fucking hell, Captain. What happened to you just being the guy with biological transhumanism?"

"We fell through a hole between universes, Kaneki. Remember?"

"I try not to."

There's another lull of silence, and then Vinci extends a hand to me. "Come on. Let's get out of this cold. We've mourned the dead enough, time to focus on the living."

I take it, and we walk back to the city together.

* * *

Diceros Keita raised an eyebrow as the form of Mavros Thorakis flew through the air, and hit the ground hard.

The fool man had insisted on a captain's duel, of all things, to determine which of the crews would keep their name. From start to finish, the affair had lasted perhaps thirty seconds.

Idiocy, but one born of a stubborn need for honor and ritual.

As Keita watched, Thorakis tried to struggle to his feet, failed, and slumped to the ground. "I...yield," he said, and Grigori nodded, before walking over and offering the armored man a hand up.

"Got any ideas for a new name?" the Nightmare asked conversationally.

"A few," Thorakis admitted. "I will...need a few days."

Grigori grinned. "We'll see how it goes." The Nightmare looked around. "Anyone else got pressing business?"

Keita stepped forward, Shaka and Oba flanking him, as was only proper. "Grigori," he spoke.

It never failed to astonish him just how _quickly_ a beach could be vacated. Within moments, it was just him and the captain of the Nightmares.

No. Not just him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Butcher Bird sitting on a driftwood log, waiting. If Keita tried anything, he was good as dead.

It was a very good thing that Keita had no such intentions.

"How much do you know of my history?" Keita asked.

Grigori smiled. "One of my own," he began, with a glance at the lurking Butcher Bird, "dubs you the Wandering King. And it fits, doesn't it? Yes, I know your history, Diceros Keita of the Shrouded Kingdom. Rightful King, and the one who broke his throne rather than be forced to let another man sit on it."

"An _unworthy_ king, a man given power through the hands of others," Keita growled. "Through those who think they are gods."

"And yet you think you are worthy to take it? You gave your crown away willingly enough."

"Only because the alternative was death."

Grigori's smile turned sharp. "So what is it you ask, Diceros Keita?"

"For the Hunt to follow me, as I leave the Grand Line, and reclaim my throne."

Grigori cocked his head to the side. "You misunderstand," he said coldly.

Keita's heart leapt into his throat, and he took a step back as Grigori's green eyes fixed on him. "If I have erred…"

"Only in the nature of things, Diceros Keita. I will not follow...but I do not command." The smile became a knife-edged grin. "Bring your petition to the Hunt. Speak of regicide, and many will follow. Speak of liberation, of converts, of treasure, speak of whatever you please. Convince them. Not me."

Keita swallowed, and touched a knuckle to his forehead, an old gesture of obeisance. "By your will."

"Never. By your own, and none other." Grigori paused, the grin fading, replaced by an expression Keita couldn't quite recognize. "There shall be no gods, Keita, nor any masters. Not here, and not today. And not when you return home, with an army of the lost and the damned, and topple Wapol from his stolen throne."

Keita couldn't help it. He smiled. "Then by _my_ will, let it be done."

Grigori's eyes blazed gold as he bared his teeth. "Exactly."

* * *

Six knocked at the door of the laboratory, wondering if he would receive an answer.

The Bosun had ordered him to see to the Captain after said Captain had failed to emerge from the laboratory for twelve hours straight, missing two meals. He was likely engrossed with something related to C, and so it fell to Six to bring him food - and with the Bosun's orders, none of the Captain's protests would matter.

It was...unusual, but the Captain's authority did not seem to be entirely absolute. At least not when it came to common-sense activities. When it came to earth-shaking scientific breakthroughs, abominations against the commonly accepted belief of the 'natural order' (an incorrect belief, in Six's opinion), or the simple act of punching something so hard it exploded (such as a cow into perfectly carved steak, a great ease on the logistics of providing food to an entire crew), the Captain was peerless. When it came to the affairs of normal people like eating, sleeping, or using words with fewer than three syllables, the Captain was...prone to distraction. So others took up authority in those tasks, chiefly the Bosun. Sometimes the Revenant, who was, unless Six missed his guess, being trained to assist the Bosun, or to succeed him.

The door creaked open, and the Dragon poked out his head. "Six," Kaneki said warmly. Then he yawned. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"Already? Damn. Come in. I see you brought food."

Six nodded, balancing the tray on one hand for a moment to hand Kaneki a large mug of coffee - black, no sugar. Kaneki took it with a small smile, and opened the door. Six saw a body - C's - on the operating table. The body's left arm had been flayed open, scalpels holding the skin in place as blood dripped onto the floor. The Captain took notes hurriedly, adding another sheet onto a ream of paper as he peered into a microscope.

Six went still for the briefest of instants, then continued onward. His hands did not shake. He placed the tray of food on the counter next to the microscope, then stepped back, waiting for orders. He was useful, he would serve the Captain well. He would not be another specimen.

But the Captain had made C a specimen, and C was useful, more needed than Six, who was just a useless Cabin Boy, and if the Captain wanted his whim would see Six on that table again, peeled open to see the secrets of his Devil Fruit, and if even useful, powerful C was merely a specimen the Captain would not put in effort to keep Six alive, not a simple Cabin -

"Six," the Dragon's voice rang, smoke and blood and jealous fire, and Six took a step backwards, closer to him. He was part of the Dragon's hoard, and if any would oppose the Captain in such a thing, it would be the Dragon.

But C had been brother in blood to the Dragon, and yet he was bleeding on that table, and -

"Six. Listen."

Six stilled, and listened. If he did, perhaps the Dragon would find worth in him.

"He's fine, Six. Vinci just whipped up an anesthetic that worked on him, because he wouldn't stop complaining. He's simply unconscious. Oi, Vinci."

"What?" the Unbound Physician asked, not looking up from the microscope.

"You ever going to kill one of the crew to dissect?"

"I have basic ethical standards, Kaneki, and that violates all of them, so no. It would be utterly pointless, anyway, the only people who I would even have a need to perform such invasive techniques on are you and C, and that wouldn't kill you. Why?"

"How about you turn around?"

The Captain paused, then did so. He looked at Six, and blinked. "When did you come in? Are you alright?" His eyes narrowed. "What is wrong?"

Six did not falter or flinch, did not cringe from those searching eyes - _spectacles, there should have been spectacles, and flesh hidden under scarves rather than open to air_ \- but regardless he felt something wrap around his waist, warm and scaled - Kaneki's tail, one of them, claiming and guarding.

The Captain nodded. "Ah. Rest easy, Six. Have my word, no harm will come to you by my hand, now or ever." Vinci's stomach growled, and he blinked, before looking at the pile of food. "Are those sandwiches?"

Six nodded wordlessly, and Vinci set about demolishing the pile with astonishing speed. As he did so, Kaneki's tail tugged at Six, and he went, until he was standing right beside the Dragon. "You back with us, Six?" Kaneki asked softly.

Six considered, then nodded, grounding himself in the firm pressure encircling him. "Dissociation is...unpleasant," he began. "I do not want it." He paused. "Thank you," he said, finally.

"Nothing owed, Six. Could smell the panic off you the moment you looked at C. Freaking baby, shoulda told him to man up and take the pain."

"No," Six said, before freezing at what had just come out of his mouth.

"Why not?" Kaneki asked.

Six held himself very still for a moment, thoughts turning, building the words he needed to say, the words he could say, for he was his own person. _Not_ useless, not the Cabin Boy. "I am... difficult," he said, very carefully. "And things are...complex, for me. That does not mean I should be treated like glass. Or that others should make sacrifices for me. But I... I cannot be…" He stopped. Took a breath, laid a hand on Kaneki's scales. "You asked what I wanted, once. The answer cannot be simplified, but part of it is this: I want to be functional. I _will_ be functional, make choices and desires for myself, determine a role. And that cannot be accomplished if I hide from obstacles and memories, or let others hide them from me." He let out a breath, then turned to where C lay on the table. He took the sight in. Free of the dissociative episode, the signs of him still living were obvious - his chest rose and fell, his eyelids twitched in slumber.

It had no power over him. He would not allow it to. "I am," he declared, straightening his spine, "a Nightmare. Fear is my weapon, and not one to be turned against me."

Kaneki made a high-pitched squeeing sound that Six pretended he didn't hear.

"Well, personal epiphanies and declarations aside," Vinci said, brushing crumbs off his hands, "I have figured a great deal of things out. Specifically, your new memories."

Kaneki cocked his head, and motioned for the Captain to elaborate.

"So, are you familiar with the theory of blood memory? I can tell by the fact that you look like you ate something that isn't people you are. Yes, normally it would be bullshit, but! Your cells appear to have a facsimile of it regardless. Quite fascinating, most of the information is encoded in the lineage factor, rather than brain structure, and the C-cells alter themselves to imitate neurons and let you retrieve the information as needed. In addition to this, the strain of cells that forms your wings have also altered greatly. I can't quite decode _how_ , but it appears to have increased the production of new cells at the site, and I would wager that means something there has matured."

Kaneki paused, then leaned back. "And C?"

"Ah, yes. A third strain of C-cell, the clusters for him are located lower than the ones for your wings but higher than those for your tendrils. No trace of development of new clusters, either, _but_ this new strain is quite intriguing. I believe the structures formed will be much denser than anything you could achieve, with a corresponding increase in weight. Oh, and he's lost his Devil Fruit abilities."

"What."

"And, judging from the similarity in sequences between his C-cells and various organisms found in nature that rely on magnetic fields or the generation thereof, his C-cell structures will imitate that power perfectly. Perhaps with greater power or precision than before, I am uncertain, we'll have to test it."

Kaneki pressed the heel of one hand into his forehead, groaning. "Wonderful, more of a headache to deal with," he grumbled.

Someone else knocked on the door, and Kaneki growled. " _What."_

The door opened, revealing the Bosun in full armor and with hammer in hand. "Three Marine battleships just appeared on the horizon," he said flatly.

Kaneki's tail vanished, and the Dragon smiled widely. "Well. That's something to celebrate."

"Agreed," the Unbound Physician replied, yanking the scalpels out of C's skin. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," he added, before jamming an ostentatiously sized syringe into the ghoul's still-healing arm. "It's time for what we do best."

"Indiscriminate bloody violence?" Kaneki questioned.

"Exactly."


	68. From the Decks of the World 3

Heretic's Roost, despite the awfully dreary name, was actually a rather peaceful place. It was a small island, even by North Blue standards, a quiet place of craggy cliffs, innumerable sheep, and wind rippling through long grasses.

That, as much as the irony of the name, was why Grigori Rasputi had chosen to meet one of his apprentices there.

It was a quiet place. Just a pair of lawn chairs and a cooler full of beer on the grass beneath one of the Roost's cliffs. The sun shone, birds sang, and the gentle sound of the surf was never distant.

His old apprentice appeared without any fuss, what was one moment empty space suddenly being occupied by a man in flowing robes and equally flowing facial hair. A long hat crowned his head, and he carried a paper fan in one hand.

"Come on," Grigori Rasputi, ex-Commodore, ex-Naval Intelligence Officer (Black-level Cleared), and current fugitive from the World Government, said to Vice Admiral Komei the White Feather. He saluted the man with the unopened beer in his sole hand. "Have a seat, young pup. It's a beautiful day."

Komei, smirking, sat, and Rasputi handed him a beer. Komei popped the cap off the bottle with his thumb, and drank deep. "A pity about the poison," the Vice Admiral said as he set the drink down. "It's quite subtle, but the antidote itself rather ruins the beer."

Ah. Now the game was on.

Rasputi smiled. "I had to try, of course," he said, while discreetly pressing a button set into the arm of his chair. Nothing happened, and he sighed. "I suppose the shaped charge under your seat was a dud?"

"And those in the cliff face overhead," the Vice Admiral confirmed.

"Sniper in the grassy knoll?"

"Working for me."

"Busboys at the diner you ate at last night?"

"Replaced with my own agents."

"My pistol?"

"Replaced the cartridges with blanks last night. You're still using the same old trap system, teacher."

Rasputi chuckled. "Fair enough, young pup. I suppose you caught me. Mind filling an old man in on what's happened in the world? Trying to evade the combined police and intelligence forces of the entire planet doesn't leave much time for reading the rag Morgans calls news."

Komei raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "You aren't curious about why I'm here?"

"Well, after what I did to poor Mengde it makes sense they'd send someone more capable to apprehend me."

"He'll recover, you know. And he doesn't bear you any ill will."

"Ah, so this is where you make the pitch for me to come in, yes?"

Komei at least had the decency to look offended. "No, teacher, I'm afraid this conversation only ends one way. But, as a courtesy…" He extended a newspaper, and Rasputi took it, setting down his beer to do so.

Dated yesterday. Hm.

The usual chaos and madness, of course, pirates on the Line, Revolutionaries pushing forward, another sacking of the Sevenfold Kingdom by one of Kaido's fleets (honestly, that poor place was just badly positioned, right between two Emperors like that)...

He flipped to the bounty section out of sheer habit, and laughed softly. "Oh, Vinci," he said quietly. "The damn brat's still raising Sengoku's blood pressure, isn't he? First Cipher Pol gets its bell rung by his right hand, then he goes and convinces the Dawnbringer to get out of his cups and wins both the Surgeon and the Priest of Anarchy to his cause...I'm surprised it's not higher."

"Two hundred and fifteen million is no small sum," Komei noted.

"True, but I would have expected more from the Buddha. And the only other increase is in the Butcher Bird's bounty, which is one hundred and eighty million and...Alive Only. Well. That's a first." He smiled at Komei. "I wonder who ordered that?"

"It is not my duty to gainsay the decisions of the highest echelons of the World Government," Komei said neutrally.

Rasputi chuckled. "Well, the boy's a practical sort. And well-taught."

"Too well," Komei said. "Teacher, why did you give him access to your family's collection? He would have been harmless without it."

"Harmless, and by now dead, young pup," Rasputi said sadly, putting the newspaper down. "He would have run from me regardless, and making him a Marine was doomed from the start. As for a quiet life as a doctor...come off it. As if any Grigori could set themselves to such a task. You know what my family is, young pup, and we do not live easy lives."

"And if you had not armed him…"

"He would be just another casualty. You think I would have wanted that, for Alexandra's son? She would have torn strips off me for letting him even leave the house without it. So I gave him his inheritance. I'm proud of it, pup, even knowing what the consequences would be."

"Caring about your family does not treason make, teacher, but you burned your way across islands to come here. The chaos you've left will take years to put right." Komei sighed, face a perfect mask of sorrow. "I'm sorry it had to be like this."

"No, you are not," Rasputi chided. He suppressed a cough.

"Not quite. It appears that young Vinci's pedigree won out, in a way," Komei said, handing Rasputi a second newspaper, dated a day after the first. Rasputi scanned it quickly, and laughed.

"If you believe things are that simple, I failed in every way possible at teaching you, pup," he said.

"Of course not. But even the appearance…"

"Oh, and now we see why you humor me so well. Pumping me for information?"

"As if I would be so crude. That can wait until you're in a cell."

"Oh, I do not mind. You wish to see what my grandson will do? It's quite simple. He's the best of us." Another cough pushed back, and Rasputi barely kept the pain from showing on his face.

"The best of you? Grigori Vinci is the son and grandson of a hated branch of your family."

"If you intend to raise a fighting dog, you don't treat it kindly," Rasputi said. "You raise them hungry, do you not? Scraps that they can use, barely enough, but it'll train them to hunt their own prey and savage anything in pursuit of a better meal."

"So you planted a hunger for knowledge in him. That hardly makes him any different from his cousins."

"Those children will stay in the little boxes you've given them. Vinci...Vinci will set fire to it, and use the ashes for something grander. I know it. Generations of history are behind him...and now someone with all the power and none of the restraint the others have so carefully instilled will be coming into his own. It will be...glorious."

"It will be madness."

"Of course, pup. If I wanted his rise to be sane, I would not have set one of the greatest mistakes of the world after him."

There was the slightest intake of breath from Komei, and Rasputi grinned, before another spike of pain ripped through his chest and he doubled over, coughing. Blood spattered the earth, but it didn't matter, because Komei was doing the same.

"What...what is this…" the Vice Admiral gasped.

"Last...thing I can do for the boy…" Rasputi growled.  
"This will...kill us both…" Komei wheezed, before another fit of coughing took him.

"I know, pup. Had to be done." Komei would have and _had_ found every measure aimed solely at him, but the man had never considered what a desperate opponent could do. Rasputi had failed to impart that lesson, it seemed. "You...you were the only one, who knew about him. Who could put the pieces together…" He paused, another wave of coughs ripping through him. The damn aerosol was effective enough, he wouldn't deny, but it hurt. "A century of sin, he's inherited...and nobody will see it coming."

Komei sat back in his chair, blood dripping from his lips, and laughed for a moment - a sound of utter and complete despair - before slumping back. He was still breathing, but that would end soon.

Rasputi leaned back in his own chair, and looked at the setting sun with blurring vision.

He wished he could've seen what his grandson brought into the world with his own eyes.

He wished he could've lived to find out if the boy would be the one to undo the first of their sins.

He wished for so many things, but he was old, and his time was up.

Grigori Rasputi died facing the setting sun, baring blood-soaked teeth and a blackened soul to the heavens, daring them to judge him.

They did not.

* * *

"Ichiji."

Something in Father's tone made the firstborn son of the Vinsmokes turn. It was something he had never truly heard in Father's voice, and he could not quite place it.

Father was looking over the bounty section of the latest newspaper, and his face was pale.

"Father?" Ichiji asked.

"Come here," Vinsmoke Judge grated, and Ichiji walked to Father's desk, calculating if he had done something that could possibly have been in error, and finding nothing.

Father handed him a wanted poster, and Ichiji scrutinized it. The image was of good quality, a man in t-shirt and shorts with odd wings of crystal protruding from his back, a green, scaled mask covering the lower part of his face. Shaggy brown hair, eyes were red with black sclerae. The only thing truly of note was the necklace - magatama were not a common sight on people dressed so casually. Priests, perhaps, but not most civilians.

"What is significant about this man?" Ichiji asked. His bounty did not even crack two hundred million, despite the truly significant list of crimes attached to it - cannibalism, mass murder, and various forms of assault on government property being among them. That spoke of someone the World Government did not see as a large-scale threat.

"It is...of significant interest. To many parties, the World Government first among them. Note the addition, Ichiji."

"Only Alive. Unusual. Does he possess some sort of information the Marines require?"

"In all likelihood, yes. But it's information does not concern us."

Ichiji cocked his head. "It is...not human."

"Not in the slightest, Ichiji." Vinsmoke Judge straightened. "I am assigning six vessels and their infantry detachments to you, as well as a special weapons team. Bring Reiju with you as well."

"Our orders?"

"Capture it. Alive. Bring it to me. Physical damage, unless augmented with Haki, can be healed fairly easily by it, so use whatever means are at your disposal."

"I understand."

"Ichiji." There was another edge to Father's tone, another thing he did not understand. "Be extremely careful with this...creature. It is far more dangerous than its bounty would suggest. It is clever, ancient, and most importantly, it has the backing of powerful forces. If the choice comes between keeping it alive or risking losing it once captured, it being deceased will suffice."

"That would set us at odds with the World Government. Perhaps fatally, if our presence is obvious enough."

Vinsmoke Judge smiled. "If I have the creature's corpse, the World Government's displeasure will not matter. You have your orders, Ichiji."

"I understand, Father."

* * *

It wasn't often the Fleet Admiral called a meeting like this.

The Great Staff Officer, Vice Admiral Tsuru. The Bounty Assignment Officer, Commodore Brannew. The Chief Logistician of the Navy, Rear Admiral Marius, and the Head of Military Research and Development, Rear Admiral Oppenheimer. The Head Treasurer, Commodore Gates, and the Chief Public Relations Officer, Commodore Gobbles, as well as the Head Intelligence Officer, Vice Admiral Edgar.

People he met every day, but it was a rare and dire situation that saw all of these people gathered in one room. Not necessarily a military situation - those usually saw Admirals and Warlords and people who were more brawn than brains gathering - but one that concerned the Marines as an organization.

"We," Sengoku began, "have lost the arms race."

There was no hubbub, or argument, or anything else. These men and women were too experienced for that. There was only silence, as they waited for him to elaborate.

"The Browning Arms Company has unveiled a new line of weaponry. Fully-automatic rifles, single-barrel machine guns, pistols that contain twice the ammunition of a revolver for half the weight. They call it...the _Vodun_ line. And yes, they openly acknowledge that they purchased the designs from Bertram Lauren of the Nightmare Pirates."

"Pirates have scraped together advanced designs before," Marius said cautiously. "But this…"

"Mass-producible. It's confirmed," Oppenheimer stated. "I have not the slightest idea _where_ the girl got such ideas, but she's advanced the field of personal armament by a century at least. And our entire arsenal…"

"Has just become completely obsolete," Sengoku confirmed. "The only reason we haven't begun to take massive casualties from engagements with Blues pirate crews is due to the simple fact that Browning's initial production run was bought out. By _Kaido._ "

Everyone present paled. The King of the Beasts was dangerous enough as it was, but with weapons like those…

"He has the industrial base to replicate the designs, and he will certainly do so. Perhaps even improve still further on them," Sengoku continued. "And he will almost certainly apply the lessons of them to his own vessels. I expect Big Mom to follow suit, perhaps the Whitebeards as well. And other arms companies will soon enough start producing their own copies, which pirates and criminals everywhere _will_ get their hands on despite our best efforts. If we do not respond, I expect the Marines to lose at least three quarters of our presence in the Blues, and almost all of it along the Grand Line, within eighteen months."

"If," Tsuru said carefully.

Sengoku nodded. "Gobbles, Edgar, you are to use any and all means at your disposal to secure examples of these guns, the plans for their manufacture, and the same for any requisite ammunition. Commodore Gates, Rear Admiral Marius, you and Rear Admiral Oppenheimer will discern their engineering. If a superior counterpart can be made more effectively, draw up plans to do so. I want our soldiers armed with these new weapons before two years have passed. The expense does not matter - if the Elder Stars complain, I will inform them _personally_." Finally stealing some budget back from the Heavenly Tribute to make sure kingdoms existed to _send_ that tribute would be worth the sleepless nights this nightmare had already given him, at the very least. "This is to take the highest priority of _all_ research projects. Shut down the Pacifista project if you must - a platoon of soldiers armed with these weapons will have similar effect for less expense, in any case."

"This will strain our budget to the breaking point regardless, Fleet Admiral," Gates warned.

"I understand. But it's either that, or we finally lose the war. We can take up the slack with purchases from private companies, if need be, but we _must_ re-equip our soldiers."

"Should I update Vodun's bounty poster?" Brannew asked.

"No. It would signal that she's seen as a threat, and despite this catastrophe being her fault, she herself is not. The bounty stands, but...inform the men she's to be brought in alive _if possible._ " He sighed, for once feeling every one of his years. "We have a lot of catching up to do, and little time to do it with. Get to work."

* * *

Captain - no, _Commodore_ now, thanks to those idiots at HQ - Smoker was pissed off.

This was not an unusual state of affairs. Especially now, given how Straw Hat had escaped at Jaya, and the whole 'we're going to promote you because we're too cowardly to admit a pirate saved the day' clusterfuck.

However, this was a whole new level of pissed off. He could actually _feel_ the veins standing out on his temples as he chewed on his latest cigars.

"C-Commodore?"

He reined in his temper, though. It wasn't exactly kind to scare the crap out of his newest Ensign.

"Read," he growled, handing the copy of the idiotic orders they'd been given.

Tashigi took the document - thankfully, she had her glasses this time - and blinked in surprise. "We're...being reassigned? To _Arlen?_ What…the City of Gardens has been under quarantine for _years!_ What could possibly…"

"Decades, Ensign, not just years. For another, the City of Gardens isn't the only place there, there's plenty going on in Port Roybal that a Marine garrison keeps an eye on. And last…" He let out a cloud of smoke. "The medical convoys to the city of Emory are always, _always_ , protected by a mixed contingent of Marines and security officers from the Center for Disease Research and Prevention. The brass likes to use it to... _shore up_ the loyalties of officers they don't think are sufficiently... _just._ "

Tashigi grimaced. "They didn't like you trying to reject your promotion, sir."

"No, Ensign, no they didn't. And so we're getting assigned to cool our heels and deliver medicine to a population that, without it, will turn into a pack of frothing berserkers and burn the island to the ground. When we could instead be hunting down pirates. Hina's on the rotation for the month after us, too."

"Sir, does this mean that…"

"Yes. We're going to have to call off the hunt for Straw Hat and his crew." He sighed. There went his perfect record. "There's a silver lining to this, though."

"Oh?"

"Last I heard, a pretty big task force left Arlen to go to Tartarus...and Grigori Vinci was last seen on that island. So if we make good time, we might get the sight of that murdering bastard in chains, him and the rest of that crew of demons."

"Commodore Smoker, sir! We just got today's newspaper, and-"

Smoker snatched the thing out of the panicking Marine's hands, and saw the headline.

His blood pressure spiked again, instantly.

" _WHAT THE FU-"_


	69. Chapter 90

I'm actually not all that mad at the Marines.

I am, however, incredibly pissed at Diceros Keita. If he hadn't been such a damn charismatic speaker, half the Hunt (the actually _useful_ half) wouldn't have sailed away with him the day before the Marines popped up.

That leaves us with eleven ships, most of them cruiser sized or smaller, against three Marine battleships.

The _smart_ thing to do would've been to not even give fight with our ships. Remain at dock, pull everyone into the city, and butcher the Marines in close quarters when they closed in. The Wolves alone would make bloody tatters of ten times their number, to say nothing of what would happen when the Basilisks started taking out commanders and the Wraiths hit them from all sides.

But our ships sail out anyway, _Ends Justified_ at the head of the formation.

I sigh, and stretch, keeping my wings in at the moment but ready to let them out the second the shooting starts. This is going to be a bloody fight, no questions asked, but any ships we lose to the guns of the Marines, well, there's a bunch of perfectly good warships right in front of us. Not like our guns would do much - even the ship-killer shells _Unbroken Hope_ and _Necessary Means_ have aren't meant to take on full-scale battleships.

"C, I suppose you'll get to test your powers. Can you handle the lead ship?" I ask.

My brother cocks his head, before taking off his suit jacket. Cloth tears, and the pair of segmented, swordlike blade-limbs that make up his first kagune coil around his right arm. Ozone sparks in the air.

 _Earth. Shielding, strong to defend but slow to move. And something else…_ the dragon whispers in the back of my mind. _Ah. I see. He stole the Devil's power...interesting._

Makes sense. Devil Fruits screw around with DNA, and…

 _And we incorporate, grow and thrive, off the same. But this is something new, something_ permanent. _Not a gift to be lost when one dies, not something that will fade from a corpse before we can devour it, no, this is_ ours.

It's his, you old fart. And if someone thinks otherwise, I'll put them down.

A flicker of motion in the corner of my eye. I blink, shake my head, and it's gone.

There's something else...ah, right.

"Oh, C, package came for you. Rapid delivery," I say, tossing him a flat box. "I'm sure you can guess."

C pauses after catching the thing, before slowly opening it. Inside, to my complete lack of surprise, is a blue mask, and C puts it on instantly. It's a simple thing, in comparison to the white one that he shattered ( _somehow)_ fighting Kid. A wooden mask, painted dark blue, that covers everything below his eyes. White-painted teeth protrude like a boar's tusks in a snarling grin.

"I like it," C says simply. "Feels right."

"Good, because I have a feeling you won't be getting another until you eat at least a few hundred people, and that's going to take a while."

"But there's three thousand over there," C half-whines.

"Yeah, but you'll have to get in line, and I'm pretty sure Lauren isn't intending to leave anything in salvageable condition," I say, pointing at our gunner, who is giggling while stroking her flamethrower.

"...This is fair. Lead ship for me and Lauren?"

"Yup. I'll take the one on the left...Herman, want to take the right?"

"Long as I get Gin to back me up, sure," the blacksmith grunts, rolling his shoulders. "Jack's on your end?"

"Damn straight, someone needs to make sure at least one ship is taken intact," our bosun replies, giving me a _look_.

"I resent the implications of that," I say primly.

"You're still the one who's caused the most damage to the ship. Do you realize how expensive it is to patch holes in multiple decks?"

"Cheaper than replacing the ship because nobody knocked some sense into the Captain until it was too late. Fine. Let's get ready to -"

"Belay that."

Everyone freezes as Vinci walks past, grinning like a madman. "We're almost to gun range, aren't we?" he asks.

"Theirs, not ours," Jack grunts. "We going to broadside them?"

"Hardly. Full stop, and signal the rest of the Hunt to do the same."

"Captain…"

"That," Vinci said, very quietly, "is an order, Bosun."

He's planning something. Something he hasn't told the rest of the crew.

 _The_ arrogance _of it…_

Hush. Still, behind my mask I snarl, crouching low. This is going to result in violence anyway, might as well let Vinci pull his strings.

"Understood, Captain. FULL STOP!"

Slowly, achingly, _Ends Justified_ comes to a halt just out of the range of the battleships' turrets, the rest of the Hunt falling into line, and the Marines...also halt.

What.

I straighten as Vinci walks towards the bow, glancing at the other officers. Everyone looks confused. Great. Vinci's about to do something ridiculous and nobody has the slightest idea what.

Well, could be worse. It's just Marines, and given that nobody has leapt off the battleships to engage someone in hand-to-hand combat that probably means there isn't anyone particularly high ranking.

"Is that a white flag?" Herman questions, and I snap my eyes to the lead battleship. Which is, in fact, raising a white flag.

"Parley, then," Vinci says, still grinning. "Let's return the favor, shall we?"

"This doesn't make sense," I grumble. "Marines actually negotiating? Did we get some chivalric idiot who feels obliged to offer noble surrender?"

"Hardly, Kaneki. Jack, would you mind getting our transponder snails and linking them up to the Hunt's? We're going to have a lot to talk about."

Jack bellows an order to a crewman in lieu of doing so himself, and we all spend the increasingly tense interval glaring at Vinci and/or the Marines in the distance.

"They're running up numbers," Lauren reports, shading her eyes as she stares at the colorful flags rising and falling on the foremast of the lead battleship. "Looks like a...transponder snail number?"

Vinci nods as one of the crew arrives and begins setting down transponder snails, twenty-three in total. We'd stocked up before leaving Bacanar, purely out of the need to keep track of every ship in the Hunt. Vinci grabs one, and starts dialing as Lauren rattles off a string of numbers. One after another, the snails connect, the one in Vinci's hand last. That one, I notice, forms an expression of immense distaste. Whatever Marine is on the other end of the line must have some rat ancestry in their family tree, that or they bit into a lemon before opening the connection.

" _Grigori Vinci, the Alley Doctor,"_ the Marine says. " _This is Commodore Morumoto of the Navy. I have been...instructed...to parley with you on behalf of the World Government."_

Vinci lights a cigarette. "To what end, then?"

" _To...offer you a position, as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. A pardon for yourself and your...subordinates, is contingent on your acceptance. You will obey lawful orders given to you by the Elder Stars or such people as they deign to put in charge of you, share any and all knowledge that they order you to divulge, and work with us, in exchange for that pardon and our backing in legal endeavors."_

"I see." Vinci's grin widens. "I…"

What was Sengoku smoking? Offering Vinci a pardon might just work, but threatening to take his work away like that, restricting his freedom? That's doomed to fail.

"...accept."

What.

" _I see. Well, then, if you do not comply we will give battl- wait, did you say you accepted?"_

"Of course. Why wouldn't I take pardon? My conflicts with the government have purely been ones of survival, and I have born no ill will towards it in total. Joining the Seven Warlords will give me and my organization the legitimacy we need."

Lie. Vinci's harder to tell than most, but the subtle speeding in his tripled heartbeats tells me everything.

" _What…"_ the Marine trails off, and the snail connection clicks closed.

At which point, the twenty-two other members of the Wild Hunt start shouting.

* * *

Lauren gaped for long moments, as the massive outcry built and built and built, captains near-panic, thinking they would be thrown to the wolves -

" _ **Quiet."**_

For half a second, she had thought Vinci had been the one to speak, in that voice ringing with confidence and power. Then she realized that everyone, Vinci included, was looking at Six. The cook sat back, face impassive but posture slumping. "Arguing does nothing," he said quietly. "Let the Captain speak."

"Thank you, Six," Vinci said softly. "Very well. Be grateful for the Cogs, my fellow Captains, for they're ensuring that we're not being listened in on at the moment. And listen, because this concerns all of you. Two days ago, after we defeated Eustass Kid, the World Government received a great deal of information concerning the formation of the Hunt, Kid's defeat, and the creation of the Augments. Suddenly, we became... _dangerous._ "

" _We purged our ranks of Cipher Pol agents,_ " Siegfried replied, the ex-Krieger's snail adopting the albino's pinched expression flawlessly. " _This information...you_ planned _for them to receive it, didn't you? Your Fae could impersonate any of their agents…"_

Vinci's grin widened. "I don't think they planned for me to accept. But accept I did."

" _WHY?!"_ nearly thirty voices shouted at once, Lauren's among them.

Vinci laughed. "Because of Arlen. The next island in the Grand Line."

" _There's nothing on Arlen but the quarantined City of Gardens, a huge Marine base, and the Center for...oh,"_ Diceros Keita trailed off, snail's brow furrowed. " _You think there's something hidden there. Some sort of secret."_

"Fifty years that quarantine has stood, the only link between the City of Gardens and the outside world being the train line leading from it to the Marine base," Vinci said. "In addition to this, there's one simple fact that makes me question the purpose of their Center for Disease Research and Prevention. I have a cousin stationed there. Let me tell you, my family performs many tasks for the World Government, but it is _never_ something mundane."

"And you need Warlord clearance to get into the Center," Jack rumbled.

"I mean, the other option was to take on the entirety of the Marine garrison, whatever resistance base security could throw up, and then have to sift through the rubble, but this plan worked a lot more neatly."

" _So,"_ Vespucci asked, snail's expression a perfect mask. " _What does this mean for us? Do we work for you now?"_

"If you want to be marked as subordinates and share in the pardon for a time, I won't stop you," Vinci said. "But you will take no orders from me. And when I sink the knife in…"

" _That pardon ends, and we're back on the sea with ten times the enmity,"_ Vespucci finished. His snail grinned. " _Crazy."_

" _And what does that mean for my throne, my kingdom?"_ Diceros Keita asked. " _If I regain it, am I to see it stolen again once you turn your coat?"_

"Wasn't your plan to set the people of the Shrouded Kingdom on Wapol by revolution? The World Government cannot interfere if Wapol gives up his kingdom...or is toppled by civil war and executed by the new regime. The World Nobles only extend one gift, and if a mere mortal fails to keep it...well, that's their problem. Worst comes to worst, the Shrouded Kingdom loses a turn or two in the Reverie, but your 'crimes' were committed to restore the rightful throne, and the World Government tends to turn a blind eye to _successful_ regicides, provided there's still a king at the end."

" _I see. You are playing a very dangerous game, Grigori Vinci. And despite your claims...you are still playing the master, by gambling with the lives of others like this. Think carefully, before you make another move like this. If my kingdom is lost again...I will be coming for you."_

Vinci's eyes narrowed. "I understand, Keita. My intent was not to harm you or your people."

" _But it might, because you made a decision that affects us all, and did not think to tell any of us. What next? Will we find that you've made truce with an Emperor that we hate, offered one of our homes to them as collateral? Will we sail into an ambush and have our lives used as coin to buy you victory?"_

"I would nev-"

"You would," Kaneki said, face impassive. "Gods above and below forgive you, but you would." The ghoul sighed. "Vinci. Illusions are nice, but do you really want to keep stringing these people along on the pretense that they can do precisely as they want, all the while boxing them in? Be honest."

The ship went very still.

"There is one rule," Six said. "For pirates, for demons, and for monsters. **Do as thou wilt.** "

Vinci swallowed, sweat dripping from his temple.

" _If it comes to that…"_ Mavros Thorakis began, the captain of the renamed Gothic Pirates slow and precise. " _Then it is simple. The Gothic Pirates are yours to command, bound to the Wild Hunt, as long as you shall have us."_

Vinci went pale, and kept growing paler still, as more and more answered the challenge Thorakis had set.

" _The Ringout Pirates will follow."_

" _The Equation Pirates as well."_

" _The Solar Flare Pirates will heed your call."_

" _The Metalheads answer."_

" _The Night Pirates will follow you."_

" _THE BARBER PIRATES BOW TO THE ONE SUPERIOR IN MANLINESS."_

" _The Fortress Pirates will keep to oath, as long as you hold to yours."_

" _The Teatime Pirates are in, this is quite dashing, isn't it?"_

" _The Eraser Pirates are with you."_

" _The Daydream Pirates...hell, we were yours already."_

" _As with the Night Terrors."_

" _The Nomads ride with you, Khan of Khans."_

" _The Navigators sail with you."_

" _The Patriots know a good ruler when they see one, we are your soldiers to command."_

" _The Shockwaves will guard you as our own."_

" _The Friend Pirates are yours, friend."_

" _The Kabbalic Pirate is with you, secret-keeper."_

" _The Miasmics will be by your side."_

" _And while the Wealth Pirates may soon be disbanded, for now we hold to you."_

Silence again, as Vinci sat frozen.

" _We of the Heart Pirates,"_ Trafalgar Law said with a note of finality, " _do not. Fuck this. I'm out."_

Off _Ends Justified's_ port side, the _Polar Tang_ vanished beneath the waves.

" _For the Redemption Pirates…"_ Lytros Jeremiah began. " _I ask this. If you gained the world...what would you do?"_

"I…" Vinci swallowed convulsively, before his eyes refocused. "If I had the world? The whole thing, to do with as I wished?" He paused. "I would see to it that nations did not burn for the crime of seeking knowledge," he began, in a voice that rang in Lauren's ears like iron. "I would end pointless squabbles over resources, tear down ancient cruelties, exorcise the demons of the past. It would be an end to the constant selfish, ignorant _stupidity_ that even now ends with countless dead at the orders of the Elder Stars. I would break the power of the unjust and the mad, place highly the learned and the kind and the selfless. I would do so many things, to make a world of perfect order... **and that is why I will not seek that poison crown.** "

" _Then...the Redemption Pirates will cleave to you. Master of the Wild Hunt. Command us."_

" _Command us,"_ twenty-one voices chorused, and Vinci threw back his head and laughed, a broken, defeated, _mad_ sound that made Lauren shiver.

"Very well," their Captain said. "If that is what you need of me...Keita, your kingdom takes priority. That plan is unchanged. Disband once you gain it if you wish, but those of you with him, touch one part of his kingdom afterwards and I will _come for you._ As for all of you...once the Marines figure out how to respond to me, you're pardoned alongside us. Sail the seas. Grow stronger. Bring more crews to the fold, if you can. When the knife goes in, I will warn you all. When you need assistance, call on each other. I will see you all again, at Sabaody."

" _We hear, and obey,"_ twenty-one pirate captains, full of pride and fire, said as they bent the knee, and Lauren chuckled, for despite everything she'd done so far it still seemed the captain had her beat when it came to terrifying scenarios.

 _Puru puru puru...ka-click._

" _Uh...this is Petty Officer Jones...Commodore Morumoto's still passed out on the floor, but I passed on your acceptance to Rear Admiral Gripper. Would you...uh...mind sailing for Arlen, under escort?"_

"My dear friend," Grigori Vinci said, eyes dripping gold ichor to the deck, "it would be my pleasure."

* * *

Arlen, C thought, was the first place that could be said to be _wrong._

First was the cold. He had thought the Archipelago was cold, but he'd been very wrong. Icebergs floated off of Arlen's shores, and the mere hint of the wind was enough to make him shiver. He needed better coats. At least the Augments were warm - the Wolves had armor, the Basilisks were bundled up in greatcoats, the Wraiths had their cloaks, and he was pretty sure neither the Fae nor the Cogs had the ability to feel cold. But everyone else?

"Motherfucker and I thought I couldn't get cold anymore," Kaneki groused, shivering in shorts and a t-shirt. "Where the hell did you guys get those coats? I want one."

"Sorry, boss," Eka said from within his fur-lined, extremely warm-looking trenchcoat. "There aren't any more left."

Brother growled. Eka just laughed.

C really hated him, just for a little bit. He wanted a coat too, being cold _sucked_.

Second thing about Arlen he didn't like. It smelled...sick, somehow. There was a big city with walls all around it that they and the three Marine battleships (steel hulls, one hard pull and each would be drowning or capsized) had not gone anywhere near, sailing instead to the docks near a Marine base and large town on the other side of the island. The _wrong-sick_ smell had been worst when they passed by the walled city, but traces of it were still present here, drifting on the wind.

The Marine base was huge, but there were another set of buildings that he could just barely glimpse past it and a bunch of small mountains that were even huger. Probably that Center the Captain had mentioned, the one the Captain would be dealing with.

There were a lot of plans in motion. C didn't really care, even if Brother did. Besides, he'd just been told to 'be himself'. Which didn't make much sense. He was _always_ himself.

Six sneezed, looking miserable. He was even worse off than Brother - at least Brother was built like a bear and had the temperament to match. Six, for all the two inches of height he had on Brother, was scrawny. Wouldn't do well in the cold

"Okay, so first thing on the list," Brother noted. " _Warm fucking clothing._ "

C nodded. Very sensible.

"For you, maybe," Eka joked. "For me, I've got something else in mind."

"Chasing tail, more like," Percy growled, but despite the words there wasn't any heat in them. None of the Oni were like that.

C knew all their stories. Brother did, too, had made them all tell them after Pamca had revealed a past of chains.

Eka, thief and vagabond, cleaving through problems as he forged the path ahead. Dui, son of a noble family who'd fallen into piracy and realized he had a taste for it to match his taste for the finer things. Tina, who'd become a pirate solely to spite her own family, and discovered a better one. Percy, bald prizefighter down on his luck who'd found peace living by his fists no matter the arena. Pamca, the breaker of chains and kindest of them all. Chandos, who had slain his Marine captain and been forced to run for fear of his life, skill at the sabre and a bristly mustache his only qualifications. Six of them, and they clustered close around C and Kaneki and now Six, all of them a bickering, snarling little knot of men in a crew full of such things, but _his_ nonetheless, and all of them willing to fight and die for the others.

C sighed as he exhaled the scents of a deeply wrong place, and breathed in those of his pack.

The game might have been afoot. Wheels might be turning. It didn't matter.

They had each other. And when the time came, C would hunt with his brothers and sister by his side.


	70. Chapter 91

Despite everything, Vinci couldn't help but smile as he walked down the gangplank. Despite the sheer, burning, _aching_ knowledge that he'd been so wrong, that no matter their pride or their strength or their desire to be free they _still knelt_ , that Kaneki had been _right_ , that he would throw the entire world to the wolves to keep his crew safe, that his first friend since he'd been a small and naive child had seen to the core of him and found it callous and cold…

Despite all that, he still smiled, as he strode down the gangplank like a conqueror (not a king, _never_ that).

Granted, a large portion of that smile was because of the endorphins he'd forcibly flooded his brain chemistry with, because he did not have the time or luxury of an emotional breakdown right now, not with how duplicitous he was going to have to be, but part of his wide smile was for another reason entirely.

Namely, two of the people in the large party assembled to greet him.

Oh, sure, there was a Rear Admiral - a pinched, thin fellow with long steel-grey hair and a couple chain-wrapped bundles of swords at his sides (and one _very_ dangerous-looking katana on his hip that Herman probably knew the name, history, and weaknesses of like the back of his hand). There was also a painfully earnest-looking fellow with spiky black hair and a dark grey uniform that probably marked him as security for the CDRP, and a smattering of other officers and various functionaries. But they weren't important right now, because this was a family affair.

"Cousin! Uncle T!" he shouted, hugging both of them. His cousin flinched, the thin scientist's wire-frame glasses nearly slipping off his beaky nose, while T-Bone just blinked in surprise.

"Vinci," Grigori Viktor said evenly. "Why such a response?"

"What, can't I say hello to family?" Vinci asked, letting go and stepping back while grinning all the while. "How's the hand?" he asked.

When he was six, Viktor and parts of his branch of their family had visited. Viktor had called him 'an ill-bred brute with no restraint or sanity' (really, he'd been a _mouthy_ eight-year-old) and Vinci had responded quite reasonably by nailing his hand to a desk with a scalpel. Judging from the way Viktor's eyes narrowed, _he_ hadn't forgotten either. "Fine," the thin man answered, pushing lanky black hair out of his eyes. "I see you've made something of yourself, becoming a pirate whose amnesty depends on the World Government. How _is_ that crew of illiterate numbskulls working out for you?"

"Quite well, actually, and they _are_ literate, my bosun wouldn't tolerate anything less after I augmented the lot of them. Uncle T, got anything new to tell me? Your stories were always the best."

T-Bone at least had the courtesy to look awkward. As right he should. The blade at his side, the pride of the 13th Royal Fleet...he did not _deserve_ it, not when Sakazuki still breathed. Vinci remembered the man who'd been willing to tell a small child stories of glory and righteousness...but he would not forgive or forget that those principles had been cast aside for the mockery of Justice that Akainu spouted.

The Rear Admiral cleared his throat, and Vinci spun on his heel.

"Right! You...there."

He heard Kaneki make a strangled noise back up on deck.

"My name, _Warlord_ , is Goro Gripper, Rear Admiral of the Navy. I am the commanding officer of Port Roybal, and by extension in charge of the island of Arlen. Welcome."

"Glad to be here, Handler," Vinci replied, shaking the man's hand vigorously. "Who's the rest of your merry crew?"

One of Gripper's eyes twitched, just a little, before he stepped back. "Right. This is Akira Horus, chief of CDRP's on-base security," he said indicating the painfully-earnest man, who stepped up and shook Vinci's hand with a 100-watt grin that Vinci immediately distrusted and wanted to punch in the face.

"Pleasure to be working with you," the black-haired man said, entirely genuinely.

"Same to you," Vinci replied, trying to figure out where the barbs were and failing miserably. Huh. Someone actually decent in a position of power. Who knew that was a thing?

"Dr. Josef here heads the prevention half of the Center," Horus continued, indicating a small, weaselly man with slicked-back black hair in a lab coat. "And...well, I'd introduce you to Dr. Grigori, but...you seem to know each other pretty well. Captain T-Bone's providing supplemental security, as well."

"And you all made time to see me?" Vinci queried. "I didn't think I rated this kind of welcome."

Viktor looked like he wanted to say something cutting, but T-Bone put a hand on his shoulder before he could loosen his tongue (and then lose it).

Rear Admiral Gripper, on the other hand, had a perfectly neutral expression and eyes filled with murder, and it told in every word that came out of his mouth. "We believed that you wanted to get right to work. You told your escorts as much, anyway."

Vinci shrugged. "True, but I'm going to see to my crew, first."

"And the others under your command?"

Vinci smiled. A blunt probe. "Oh, they're about. Set them to getting stronger, hunting down pirates, you know, what Warlords are supposed to do. Oh, did you know that I can actually create a legal mercenary network and apply my Warlord pardon to everyone who joins it? Because that was really interesting to find out."

"I...see. Very well, I can - what is he doing?"

Vinci turned. Kaneki was striding down the gangplank, a pair of bodies held in his tendrils. One was a very rumpled-looking C, while the other was Six. Unusual, that, since Six appeared to be humming contentedly, whereas last time _Vinci_ had touched him (routine medical examination, nothing worse than a bit of prodding) every muscle in the man's body had locked up and he'd acted like a scalded cat for hours afterward. The Oni flanked Kaneki on both sides, breath steaming in the cold air and irises glowing red.

"I," Kaneki announced flatly. "Am going to get some warm fucking clothes. Where the hell's the nearest shop?"

"Head down main street, take a left at the statue of the knight punching a giant in the crotch, it's the third building down," Horus provided helpfully.

The ghoul paused for a moment, then inclined his head. "My thanks." He leapt off the gangplank and over the heads of the crowd, and took off running.

Vinci cocked his head. "So, yeah, that was my first mate. Now, take me to your laboratories, I intend to do science to them."

* * *

Ah, thrift shopping. It never, despite Dui's increasingly ruffled feathers about the quality of the place, disappoints.

I pity Vinci, really. Dealing with an evil (well, _more_ evil) cousin, a stick-up-the-ass Marine captain, another guy who is probably compensating for something via sheer quantity of swords, and what I was pretty sure was Josef fucking Mengele in a World Government uniform can't be fun, but hey, he signed up for it. At least that guy in charge of security seemed nice...ish. Didn't really have a chance to read his heartbeat, but the man practically exuded honesty, goodness, democracy and apple pie and all that jazz. On second thought, democracy in the World Government? Maybe I should check if he's a Revolutionary spy; Dragon has to have someone watching this place, right? Eh, his directions were good either way.

"Hey, C, budge over," Percy growls.

"There's a heater here. You will die before I move."

"Isn't the expression one used with 'I'?" Dui asked idly, a wineglass in hand - no I don't know where he got the wine, though I'm pretty sure the man has at least three bottles tucked away somewhere under that spiffy waistcoat.

"No," C says mulishly as he remains stubbornly ensconced right next to the store's radiator - he really isn't taking severe cold well, and Arlen makes the Archipelago look like Alabasta. "Not this time."

"Okay, fine, take up aisle space," the prizefighter says, raising his hands in surrender.

I snort, and continue sorting through the racks of coats. Already gotten my hands on some long pants - ones that, for whatever reason, some previous owner has added mounts for armor plating onto, the steel plates at shin and thigh and knee nearly obscuring the winter camouflage the pants are actually patterned on.

Most of the stuff here is winter jackets and coats, pretty boring in general. Not an ounce of style, and most of it is a little too beat-up anyway for my purposes. Something with flair would be…

I pause, and shift a couple of peacoats out of the way, before pulling out the long white coat that's caught my eye. "Hey, Chandos, come over here for a second."

"Sure," the mustached Oni drawls, head popping up from what I'm charitably terming 'Hawaiian shirt hell' (why the hell does a Winter Island have such a vast selection of Hawaiian shirts?). "What's up?"

I hold the coat up, and the ex-Marine glares at it. I grin. "Look familiar?"

"Looks like someone added some fur lining, but yeah, that's a Marine captain's coat. How is that even…"

"Thrift stores, man. Someone took the insignia off the back, though. Well, that works even better, actually."

"Oh, god, what are you planning…"

"Hey, Six!"

"Yes?" the cook asks as his head pops out of the blanket burrow he's ensconced himself in.

"How good are you at art on cloth? Tailor guy's already drowning in making new clothing for all the Wolves so they have something to wear off-duty, don't want to trouble him, and we're eating off the government's dime for the next few weeks."

He considers for a moment. "I am passable at it. What do you require?"

"Need someone to paint the kanji for 'retribution' on the back of this," I say, hefting the coat. "I'd do it myself, but I'm still shit at writing out that formal stuff."

The blue-haired man nods carefully. "I see. Does anyone know where to get fabric paint?"

"Here!" Tina trills helpfully, the tall woman holding up a couple buckets.

"Is the owner going to let us…" I stop, and glance at said store owner, who remains asleep behind the counter with a porn magazine draped on his face. He might actually be dead, I don't care enough to check. "Yeah, okay, that was a stupid question, paint away."

 _Of course you would set out to tweak the noses of those who are currently hosting you, brat,_ the dragon murmurs in my ear.

Yeah, yeah. Hell, it's the Marines, _I_ of all people can claim moral superiority to their organization, a bit of directed insolence isn't going to tip the scale.

Buzzing, churning motion just out of sight, before it fades.

 _Hrmph. You are not incorrect in this statement._

Love you too, scaley.

I toss Six the coat. "Get to work whenever you feel like, I'm going to see if I can find a bunch of shirts with rude slogans on them."

"So, we're just giving the inner fifteen-year-old free reign, then," Dui remarks with a smirk.

I, very maturely, stick out my tongue at him and throw a particularly ratty shirt at his head. The man sputters as he tries and fails miserably to rid himself of the thing.

Half an hour, several new articles of clothing, and one rather irate Oni being forced to wear a bright pink shirt with sequins later (seriously, you'd think Pamca would've learned not to bet against Eka on anything, Eka _cheats_ ), we're on the rooftops, leaving the thrift store and the still-asleep-or-dead owner behind, more or less intact (Percy tried to welch on the bill, because of said owner, so we'd compromised and given him the money, but filled the entire space behind the counter with birdseed. Because _some_ people had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, _Tina._ )

My new coat doesn't slow me down, despite my assumption that I'd have to deal with increased air resistance. It does, however, look demonstrably awesome.

 _You are so childish._

Buddy, for once in my life my only responsibilities are to kick back for a few weeks and let Vinci worry about everything, while passive-aggressively screwing with as many Marines as possible. This is freaking _heaven._

 _Oh, so spite. I should remember that._

Another flicker, this one almost like a...running shape? I dismiss it, glance at the docks, and stop dead, everyone else falling in beside me. Even Six, who's keeping up admirably, but looks about ready to drop. I sneak a tendril from under my new coat and wrap it around him to steady him as I look at the newly-arrive Marine vessel. It's a bit smaller than _Ends Justified_ , a light rather than a heavy frigate, not really something suited for the Grand Line...but my vision's good enough to make out two of the people disembarking from it.

Grey hair, grey jacket, white smoke trailing behind him.

Glasses, bob cut, sword at her hip.

"Jesus Christ what the hell is that noise?" Eka asks as what sounds like half the canine population of Port Roybal starts barking.

"Brother, please stop," C asks, and I halt, coughing.

"Sorry," I say, a little sheepishly. "Gentlemen, see that fellow down there with the jutte and the expression like someone pissed in his Cheerios?"

"Yeah, we can, is there a point?" Dui asks.

"I give you the rarest of sightings, gentlemen: a Marine with basic common fucking decency."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. That's Commodore Smoker. Girl at his side's Ensign Tashigi."

"Heard about them. Didn't they break up the whole thing at Alabasta, and take out Crocodile?" Eka muses.

"Nah, Straw Hat Luffy actually did the groundwork on that, Marines took the credit. Have it on good authority Smoker was pissed about that, though, so another point to him."

"Is that respect I hear, Boss?" Percy asks. "For a Marine? We sure the paint fumes didn't get to you?"

"I'm allowed to have my favorites," I muse, as the duo below us split up. "Hey, Pamca, didn't you say Herman went off to...where was it again?"

"The Street of Steel," the albino answers, folding his massive arms. "Said he wanted to get some smith work in, fool around a little. Why?"

"Well, just considering the repercussions of a girl who practically worships Graded swords running into a man who despises swordsmanship and melted one down to make his armor," I say, pointing at Tashigi as she hurries along.

"Okay, so day one and we've already gotten into a brawl with the Marines, and lost half the town because Doggo Supreme and restraint in a fight are alien to one another, got it," Tina says lightly, balancing her longaxe across her shoulders. "Got a plan?"

"How 'bout you guys keep an eye on Smoker, C, Six, you're with me, we'll make sure Tashigi doesn't poke the dog-bear too much," I say. C and the Oni nod, and Six makes some odd humming noise that I choose to take as agreement. Really need to make sure he's okay with the cold, he refused everything at the store beyond a pair of sweatpants he's currently wearing under the cargo shorts.

Right. Time to prevent disaster.

* * *

Smoker stalked through the halls of Port Roybal Marine Base as grumpily as a human being could. First on the lists of reasons for his increasingly short temper was, naturally, the obvious fact that Navy HQ had lost their god-damned minds. Second was the fact that someone or _something_ had been following him the entire way up to the Base proper. The pressure of watching eyes had only abated once he'd gotten within the white walls. Third, pretty much permanently at this point (dethroning after ten years in the service the consistent aggravation of constantly lowered training standards saddling him with nearly-incompetent recruits) was the lingering irritation that was the existence of Straw Hat Luffy and how the brat had had the audacity to _not_ be a complete scumbag like every other pirate on the seas while still putting himself in a position where Smoker was compelled by honor and pride to arrest him anyway.

He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he'd honestly prefer it if the brat had gotten the Warlord spot instead of _Grigori_. The brat at least had basic functioning morals and lacked a rap sheet filled with such things as 'caused a volcanic eruption that destroyed an entire island', 'slaughtered his way across said island beforehand', 'enlisted the services of a cannibalistic monster as a first mate', and what could only be summarized as 'Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you'.

His knock on the door to Rear Admiral Gripper's office left dents in the wood, and he wasn't sorry in the slightest.

"Come in," the Rear Admiral said in a slightly strained voice, and Smoker entered, instantly realizing something was wrong - the Rear Admiral had a look in his eyes that Smoker had only seen before in people who survived 24-hour artillery bombardments.

"Commodore Smoker, reporting as ordered, sir," he said anyway.

"You're early," Gripper noted, voice still strained. "Please, sit."

Smoker took a seat, as Gripper, with a shaking hand, poured three fingers of whiskey into a crystal decanter and threw the thing back in one gulp. "I understand," the Rear Admiral said, in a much more normal tone of voice than before, "that you will have numerous objections to Grigori Vinci's...existence. As a Warlord, and as a person. I was expecting you to bring it up at the first opportunity, and I wish to forestall you. Making Grigori a Warlord, and the Only Alive addition to his first mate's bounty, are both decisions I disagree with, for obvious reasons."

"Did Sengoku finally go senile, then?" Smoker asked.

"The orders I was given, to make the offer and to acknowledge the Only Alive bounty, came direct from the Elder Stars themselves," Gripper said, voice shaking a little again. "I instructed Commodore Morumoto to phrase his offer in such a way it would nearly _guarantee_ Grigori refused, and could then be brought down by our guns. And yet he accepted anyway." He took a deep breath. "I have just spent several hours in close company with the human equivalent of a rabid wolf, Commodore Smoker. Rest assured, I share your grievances with the decisions of Navy Headquarters."

Well, that was him told, Smoker thought numbly. "So now what?" he asked.

"Base security up at the Center has told me they will let Grigori play with his toys, provided he doesn't do anything dangerous. He's expressed interest in sharing his...research, and after some vetting I think we might see genuinely useful results from _sane_ scientists. As for us...I've had men keeping an eye on his crew from the moment they've stepped on shore. The Butcher Bird, of all people, has demonstrated respect for you. Quite vigorously. And unusually. He has a particular hatred for the Marines in general. If he approaches you...try not to reject him."

"You want me to wring him for as much information as possible, and try to figure out why the hell Grigori accepted the Warlord position and what the madman's planning," Smoker said bluntly.

"Exactly," the grey-haired Rear Admiral said.

Smoker let out a breath. "Fine. I don't like it, but it's better than letting the Butcher Bird wander around town unimpeded."

"Thank you, Commodore."

"And what about my men?"

"The next aid train to Emory is in three weeks. Your soldiers will be barracked here. Also, in accordance with your promotion, you'll be given command of a battleship, and additional men are yours to recruit as you see fit."

"Loguetown doesn't have the docks to support such a vessel," Smoker noted. "I assume that means I've been officially reassigned to the Grand Line?"

"Paperwork takes time to catch up, I suppose, but yes. Last I heard, they'd placed a Captain by the name of Geretsu there to replace you."

That stung, a little, but Smoker supposed leaving like he had had to have consequences. "I'll see to recruiting, then. And I'll let you know if the Butcher Bird calls."

"Very well. I look forward to -"

The door to Gripper's office slammed open, and a panicked-looking Seaman First Class Odoroki - one of his men - stumbled in. "Commodore! Ensign Tashigi's in trouble! We need your help, this is way too much for us!"

Oh, hell, what had that girl gotten herself into now? She'd just gone to get Shigure inspected, surely _that_ couldn't have caused a blood feud or dramatic swordsman's duel!


	71. Chapter 92

Tashigi suppressed a groan as she walked down the Street of Steel. Was _every_ blacksmith and sword-seller closed today? What, was there some kind of local holiday she didn't know about?

The only reason she hadn't given up at this point was because, very far down the street, she could hear the sound of hammer and anvil.

If only the street wasn't so damn long, and so cold. She shivered, despite her thick coat, and wished for a scarf as she followed the sole bit of life that the street seemed to have. Quickly - but still far too long, her freezing ears complained - she came to an open forge. The building was mostly open to the elements, shabby-looking and worn, but the massive forge-fire sent out waves of heat that fogged her glasses and forced her to stop to clean them. She got them back on as quickly as possible, and got a good look at the man working the forge.

What struck her were the eyes - well, _eye_ , the other covered by a thick black patch. Okay, yes, he was stripped to the waist, sweating in the heat from the forge, and quite frankly well-developed, she had _eyes_ even if she didn't want a relationship, but the eye was the important part. His face wasn't anything special - black hair, short and spiky with sweat, a face that was all hard angles barely softened by a short beard - except for it. It was the brilliant green of a gemstone, but despite the grim expression on the rest of the man's face, it was...at peace. Completely, utterly content, as if working in a sweltering forge with freezing cold just a step away was this man's idea of heaven. It was...she wasn't sure what, but it was definitely a little unsettling.

That sole eye fixed on her, and despite herself, Tashigi flinched. An expression that might've been a smirk crossed his face. The hammer rose and fell, and instead of having to face that eye, she looked at what was being hammered into shape on the blacksmith's forge. It looked almost like an axe head, but the loop that would accommodate the axe handle was both the wrong shape and the wrong size for anything even remotely axe-related. It almost looked like you could fit a rifle barrel instead…

The hammer rose, the hammer fell, until with an oddly delicate motion the man flipped the piece into a quenching bucket, and glared at her. "You need something, Marine?" he asked, voice serene.

"Is this your forge?" she asked. "There isn't a sign…"

"Is now. Needed to get some work done," the blacksmith said shortly, retrieving the cooled piece of metal and examining it carefully. Apparently finding it satisfactory, he set it down behind the anvil. "I ask again. What do you need?"

Carefully, she extended Shigure, hilt-first. "I got into a fight with someone using electricity recently," she explained. "I'm pretty sure nothing bad happened to her temper, but I'd rather get a smith to look her over, just to be safe."

"Hm." He took Shigure with surprising gentleness for a man with such blunt fingers. He hefted the sheathed blade carefully. "Shigure, the Rain in Autumn. Graded and Named in 1517. A new blade, by the standards of most, and without much history or weight to it."

Tashigi bit back a snarl at the man's clinical tone, judging her sword so dispassionately. Like it wasn't even worthy of admiration.

"Still. There's a hint of potential there. Her temper is undamaged, and there's a spark...hm. Nearly snuffed out, though. When was the last time she drew blood?"

"I...what?"

"Blood. You know, the thing that comes out of people when you shove a sword into them. Lose too much, they-"

" _I know what blood is._ Why is whether or not I've cut someone important?"

"I'm merely questioning what you've used this blade for. I assume your questioning means you haven't?"

"I have always," Tashigi said, reining in her temper at the blacksmith's patronizing tone, "prided myself on not needing to hurt people. On using skill to take named blades out of the hands of those who will use them for evil."

"Then why use a sword? You could do the same thing with a truncheon. Hell, I saw your commodore, why don't you use a jutte like he does?"

"Because some day, people will need to be cut down. But until that day…"

"You hone your skill, to demonstrate how much better you are." The blacksmith took a breath. "I misjudged you, then...what is your name?"

"Tashigi. Yours?"

"Herman." He handed Shigure back to her. "It's a good blade. If you won't shed blood with it, make a story out of that. That, more than the steel, makes a blade."

"Most blacksmiths don't know so much about swords," Tashigi said. "How do you? Are you a swordsman?"

The blacksmith laughed. "Hardly. Never will be, never want to be. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get to work on another project. Stick around, if you want, this cold is nasty."

Tashigi took the invitation for what it was, and leaned against one of the beams that held up the forge's roof as the blacksmith went back to work, beginning to hammer a bar of steel into shape. Under the man's careful blows, a sword began to take shape - and not one Tashigi was familiar with. It was double-sided, with a thick blade, and oddly short for a sword...but not, Tashigi realized, for an oversized knife. She looked at the stacks of oddly-shaped axe-heads. They seemed built on about the same scale.

"What's all this stuff for?" she asked, as the blacksmith quenched the completed blade and started a new stack with it.

"You know the eight-foot-tall guys wandering about town now in armor?" the blacksmith asked, continuing to hammer. "Turns out, they don't make most weapons on that scale. Knives especially. The ones with the shields are all good on close-quarters stuff, but the ones who actually have decent rifles all want me to kit them out with stuff that isn't full-length swords, or bigger guns with stabby bits on them. Got a partner handling the guns themselves, going to fit the halberd bits onto those and see how that works out."

"That…" Tashigi said, trying to picture a gun-halberd. "That sounds horrendously impractical."

"They're eight-foot-tall super-soldiers, their whole existence is impractical."

Well, for all that he was supplying the Nightmares - who else could make that kind of claim with regards to their crew? - he seemed like a decent guy. Her eyes drifted over the forge, half-closed as the blacksmith's rhythmic blows began to fade out of her hearing, becoming mere background noise. She caught sight of something metal, lurking in the background, and opened her eyes again. A sword, and what looked like a pile of armor. The sword...there was something _wrong_ about it, something that drew the eye and -

Something grabbed Tashigi's wrist, and she startled, realizing she was standing in front of the blade, fingers nearly touching the hilt, the blacksmith's hand around her wrist the only thing keeping her from doing so. She snatched her hand back. "What-?" she said for a moment, before glaring at the massive black sword. "It's cursed, isn't it," she said, her fingers clenching into fists.

"Yes," the blacksmith said.

"What are you doing with a cursed blade? You said you weren't a swordsman."

"I am not. As for the blade...call it an inheritance. Its name is Amakatta, the Berserker's Blade." Phantom laughter rang in Tashigi's ears for a moment, but she shook her head and it vanished.

"Good thing you didn't touch it," Herman continued. "Likely wouldn't have been pretty." Then, as if he hadn't made such an incredibly ominous statement, he picked the sword up, hefting it one-handed and tossing it into the street. It sank into the flagstones and stayed there, and Herman dusted his hands off. "There," he said with a note of satisfaction. "Let it sit out in the cold for a bit, think about what it's done."

"Did you just put a cursed blade worth more than some cities in time-out?" Tashigi said disbelievingly.

"Yup. Like I said, not a swordsman."

"So that means you don't have to show respect for swords?"

Herman smiled. "Precisely, Marine."

Tashigi narrowed her eyes. "Then why care about Shigure?"

Herman laughed. "Oh, you think because I see potential in the blade, I should…what, be nice to every sword? A sword that cannot cut down the enemy isn't even fit to be decoration, it's just a waste of steel. Might as well melt it down and repurpose it."

Tashigi took a step back, fingers twitching. "You...you _actually mean that._ You'd be willing to destroy something priceless...because it doesn't fit your purposes?"

"Yes."

"It's pointless destruction! It's as near to sacrilege as you can get for a sword! Don't you have any pride in your craft? Any appreciation for something well-made?"

"A smith shatters the ill-tempered tools, Marine, and forges them anew. Swords are just a tool for separating men from their coin and lives, make no mistake on that, and one that lacks the capacity to do even that is ill-tempered no matter the history behind it. I'd be willing to do it? I _have_ ," he said, pointing to the pile of armor, the wolfshead helm and the countless pieces of plate. "Furaian the Edged Shield was a failure as a blade, a thing meant solely to defend and that couldn't cut as it should. So I melted it down, and forged out of its steel plate to guard me."

"You...you…" Tashigi growled.

"If you've got a problem with it, I don't give a shit. I don't care about your honor as a swordswoman, I don't care about whatever sentiments you attach to useless relics. I don't even care about your ambitions or dreams. Because at the end of the day, I am not a swordsman. I am Bosque Herman, blacksmith of the Nightmare Pirates, and my job is to break brittle steel to new ends." The blacksmith's grin widened still further, baring sharp canines. "Even you, girl, if you don't have conviction."

A pirate. A stinking, treacherous, _blaspheming against every ounce of honor she'd ever had, mocking her with every word, pirate._

Tashigi's vision went _red._

* * *

I curse the warren-like nature of the streets below as I run across the rooftops, Six held securely in one tendril and C keeping up beside me.

I'd lost sight of Tashigi far too quickly, too many twists and turns in the streets below, too many alleyways and places where buildings crowded around each other. It'd taken fifteen minutes to catch sight and scent of her after one missed turn, and that had cost me a lot.

God damn it, I should've had the common sense to ask where the hell the Street of Steel was _before_ I sent the Oni off to spy on Smoker. Too late now, though.

It's easier to figure out where Tashigi is _now_ , though. The sound of steel clashing on steel is distinctive enough, even more so the sound of thirty-odd Marines panicking.

I vault another rooftop, land just past the edge of another, and clamber up the steep roof, onto the space above the Street of Steel...and pause, watching.

Herman'd gotten stronger, all of us had on Bacanar, training as always...but I'd never really kept an eye on him specifically, too focused on getting the Wolves used to super-strength and taking on the Oni in a brawl. On the journey to Tartarus, judging the strengths and weaknesses of the other captains of the Hunt had taken precedence. And the fight itself...well, I'd had a hunt of my own to deal with, and never gotten an eye on what Herman had been doing.

Clearly I should've. I'd anticipated Tashigi being a match for him. Or at least a contender. And it's achingly clear...she's not even close.

The arena they're fighting in is marked out by bodies - Marines on one side, clearly afraid, Herman's Huscarls on the other, impassive and armored. Off to one side, Amakatta stands, embedded in the cobblestones for some reason. And in the middle...Herman is calmly, impassively, beating the absolute shit out of one of the most decent people I know about.

" _Mist Cutter!"_ Tashigi yells, lashing out in a downward strike. Herman takes the blow on his forearms, Shigure sliding off with a scraping sound, and lashes out in a quick punch to the gut that has the smaller woman staggering back.

"Again," our blacksmith says. "Forged Body. If you are intending to claim the title of swordswoman, you need to be better than this."

I've never heard this kind of serenity from him, before. But there's something in it, an edge I can't quite...oh. _Oh._

Something's somehow pissed him off so much he's looped right back around to calm. What the hell did Tashigi say to him? For that matter, what the hell did he say to Tashigi?

Tashigi staggers to her feet, and Herman steps back, completely placid.

Forged Body. Herman was already one of the best in the crew at Iron Body, and with our natural growth being a lot faster...huh. Could he really have figured out how to move while using that technique? Only Jabra could pull that off...but Jabra, for all his training, had been limited by the simple fact his body would have given out after a certain point. Herman, like the rest of us, has been able to avoid that through Vinci's inventions.

Tashigi snarls in anger and lashes out with a blindingly fast combination of overhead slashes, trying to break through Herman's defense and failing miserably. Herman grunts.

" _Rivet."_

My fingers clench on the edge of the rooftop, crumbling tile between them. Tashigi's body locks up in shock as Herman, holding Shigure in one hand, removes a bloodied finger from her chest, before kicking her in the jaw. She hits the ground hard, but she's still holding on to her sword.

"That broke two of your ribs," Herman says serenely. "Are you insisting on continuing, still?"

Tashigi hunches over, and blood splatters the ground as she coughs, but she gets back up. Shigure trembles in her hands, ever-so-slightly, but she still raises it to point at him.

Damn. I genuinely can't tell who I'm rooting for, here.

Herman sighs. "What are you trying to prove?" he asks. "That a 'true swordsman' can beat someone who doesn't hold to your code? That I'm wrong? Marine, this world was made by men who cut down their enemies. Anything else is dross."

Tashigi takes a deep breath, then opens her eyes, and smiles. "I'm trying to prove...that you can't break me," she says, before holding Shigure low and to her side, a stance that practically telegraphs her strike - upwards across the body, an eviscerating blow, but one vulnerable to counterattacks from a taller or quicker opponent. "But I can break you."

Herman...Herman laughs, and there isn't arrogance in it, but... _respect._ "Bring it, Marine."

" _River Flood."_

Tashigi dashes forward in a blur of motion, Shigure lashing outwards and upwards, and though Herman leans back from the strike...I see blood fly, and more tiles crack under my grip. The lean back turns into a fall, and I snarl reflexively, more tails joining the one surrounding Six to steam in the freezing air.

"Peace," Six says. "Watch."

Herman's hand grabs Tashigi's wrist, extended out in her strike, and his fall...stops. His eyepatch drifts to the cobblestones.

"Steel-cutting," Herman says, head still cocked back, the angle too poor for me to see his expression but I _know_ there's a feral grin there. "Impressive."

Tashigi's wrist _creaks_ as his grip tightens, and Herman throws his torso forwards, forehead colliding with her nose. The sound of breaking bone resounds through the street. A knee to the gut, followed by a straight punch to the jaw, and she falls again. Herman's bleeding as well, a thin cut over his eye, draping the entire right side of his face in crimson, but his grin is a pure, blinding, white thing of fangs and malevolence. "Not enough," he pronounces. "Not enough at all."

And Tashigi…

Tashigi _sobs_ , a broken, defeated, _raw_ noise of pain as tears mix with the blood on the cobblestones. "It's always...always going to be like this, isn't it," she says. "Always weaker, always beaten, always the one holding back everyone else." She's on hands and knees, Shigure clenched in one fist. "And no matter what I do...that's what I'll always be. The weakling that everyone says I am. At best, to be taken pity on, men letting me off because I'm some delicate flower. And I _hate_ it, I hate that no matter how long I train or what I study there's _always someone like you standing in my way_ , telling me that my dream is doomed to fail, telling me that there's no worth in honor or pride...so why...why even try...if I can't hope to win, what's the point of my dream?!"

Oh, no…

"What a load of shit," Herman growls, stepping to the side. "Damn you, Marine, what happened to your pride? Your conviction? You're too weak to fulfill your dream? _Then grow stronger, and surpass me!_ Cut down those who say you're wrong until you've made the truth of the world out of their spilled blood and guts!" He grabs Amakatta, wrenching the blade out of the ground. "Stand up, damn you! Stand up, Tashigi, show me power and pride and conviction, show me something I can stand to match blade to blade rather than pointless petty anger! Get up on your own two feet, fight with every waking breath, because if you fold at this, what worth was your dream anyway?!" He holds the massive sword low and back, an opening and a challenge. "Get up, Tashigi of the Navy," he says, right eye glowing with crimson light. "You want to prove yourself, prove you can break me? I have a pulse, so _remove my skull._ Hack me down, if you can, Tashigi of the Navy, and prove your cause just through the first resort of gods and kings! STAND! UP!"

And slowly, agonizingly, Tashigi does. She holds Shigure's sheathe in one hand, and rams the blade home, watching Herman through cracked glasses as she advances, blood dripping to the ground with every step but she's _still moving,_ her steps steady, her hands without flutter or tremble. And...she smiles.

" _Autumn rains come, and the river swells,"_ she begins to intone.

" _Forged armor, forged blades, forged life,"_ Herman begins, a challenge clear as day.

" _The dam is stone and steel, but cannot hold..."_

" _All that is made by hammer and will..."_

" _And the village drowns, when it bursts!"_

" _Let it be unmade by same!"_

" _Mist Style Secret Technique: Dam-Breaking Wave!"_

" _ **Shatter.**_ "

I don't see the blur of movement as the two meet in the middle of the makeshift arena. But I see the aftermath. Blood splatters the cobblestones once again as the sound of rent metal fills the air.

Herman falls to one knee, a cut across his bare chest bleeding freely.

Tashigi hits the ground like a rag doll, a terrible wound across her chest and a gash stretching from ear to mouth along the left side of her face, the shattered remains of Shigure falling to the ground around her.

"In the end," Herman says, getting to his feet with clear difficulty. "It was not conviction that failed you. Only your sword and your strength, and those can be improved. Remember that, for the next time we meet."

"I...will…" Tashigi gasps, before her eyes flutter closed.

Herman grunts. "Okay, theatrics done now, can someone get her to a fucking hospital before she bleeds to death?"

At which point Smoker, in a display of the worst possible timing, rockets out of a side street and punches Herman in the kidneys.


	72. Chapter 93

Smoker felt something crack in his hand as his punch landed, but the blow was true and the _damned pirate_ who'd so badly hurt his Ensign went hurtling through the air, smashing through a wall. He glared at the armored soldiers. "Stay the hell out of this," he growled.

"Yeah, no," the closest of them said, drawing his sword and hefting a huge metal shield in the other hand. "Bring it, whitecoat."

"Leave our commodore alone!" one of his Marines shouted, levelling his rifle. Smoker's jutte practically leapt into his hands. The Huscarls stepped forwards, forming a shield wall. Bosque staggered out of the wreckage, already in half-beast form and with absolute murder in his eyes.

"Breaching the truce already, pirate?"

"Picking fights already, Marine?" the berserker growled.

"You hurt one of those under my command. I'll have you in chains, or dead, by the end of the day, Berserker Hound."

There was a chorus of growls from the Huscarl shield wall, and the Berserker Hound stepped forward, blade in hand. The man smiled. "You're a tough bastard. Cracked right through Forged Body, and that's pretty impressive."

A very small part of Smoker's brain distantly noted that a couple of medics were moving Tashigi out of the way, but the rest of him was focused on the Berserker Hound. He seemed completely nonchalant, despite the bloody cuts across his chest and face. He held his sword loosely in one clawed hand, the other hooked into his belt.

"Still," the Hound said softly. "Your boys seem to have more pride than sense. Figures you'd have the same. You pursue this, end of the day, won't be me in-"

"Shut up, and come quietly," Smoker ordered.

The Hound's eyes narrowed. Then he threw back his head, and laughed. "Wanahahahahahahahhahahaha! For self-defense? Me, an ordinary member of the community? Well, now I know why Kaneki bitches so much about Marine corruption."

"You are a _pirate_ ," Smoker said disbelievingly.

"Captain's pardon says otherwise."

"I don't care," Smoker said flatly, pointing his jutte at the Zoan. "I'm taking you in."

The Hound raised his sword, muzzle splitting to reveal a maw full of teeth. "Bring it, chimney."

Smoker launched himself forwards, his legs turning to smoke and propelling him faster than he could possibly go on foot, and the Hound leapt. Jutte and sword swung as one - but both stopped dead.

"Okay, this bullshit has gone on long enough," the Butcher Bird said calmly, one hand stopping the Hound's descending blow dead, and three tails straining against Smoker's jutte.

"The fuck, Kaneki?" the Hound asked.

"You were about to get your ass handed to you, unless you somehow developed the ability to shit seastone when I wasn't looking." The cannibal blinked. "Wait, have you? I mean, you adapted the Six Powers to your own technique when I wasn't paying attention, but…"

"No," the Hound growled.

"Oh, so you were definitely going to get your ass kicked, then. Cool. Get the fuck back to work, then." The Butcher Bird shoved the blade, and the Hound staggered back, before lowering his sword.

"Fine," he gritted out, stomping over to a nearby forge.

"And get those cuts seen to!" the Butcher Bird shouted at him. "I'm not gonna be held responsible if your face rots off!"

"Fuck off!"

Smoker tried to free his weapon, but he might as well have been trying to budge a mountain. The Butcher Bird glanced at him, then rolled his eyes and glared at the Huscarls instead. "You lot. Make sure he actually does what I told him. And stay the fuck out of trouble, or I'm setting Jack on you instead and letting him know you fucked up the first chance for an actual vacation he's had since he was in diapers."

Smoker had never seen a street empty so fast.

The Butcher Bird turned his eyes back on him. Smoker glared at him. "You going to let go?"

"You going to try to fight me if I let go?" the...creature...asked.

Smoker grit his teeth. "...No." Not until he knew he'd win.

The tails uncoiled and shrank back into the creature's back - and only just now, Smoker saw that he was wearing a Marine officer's coat, or at least a decent facsimile. The implicit mockery made bile rise in his throat, but he bit it back.

The Butcher Bird cocked his head. "Your ensign drew first, you know. Didn't see the why of it, but...well, I doubt it changes anything, but draw first she did," he said, in a deceptively soft tone. He looked over Smoker's shoulder. "And none of you thought to stop her?"

"And get between the two of them?" one of the Marines answered. "We'd be useless at best. Besides, by the time we got here, they were already going at it."

The Butcher Bird snorted. "Well, at least you've trained some of them to know when not to throw themselves into battle," he said, taking a step away from Smoker.

Smoker's fingers clenched. "Men," he said quietly. "Return to base. Barracks are being set up for you."

"But...sir…"

He looked at Kaneki. "Did _you_ happen to bring seastone?"

The Butcher Bird laughed. "Kyakahahahaha...nah, wasn't expecting any trouble. Don't want any, either."

"Convenient for you," Smoker said, as his men took the hint and began to file away. "What do you want, cannibal?"

Something went very cold in the Butcher Bird's eyes, and the man walked past him. Smoker saw the ornate kanji on the back of the man's stolen coat - _Retribution_ promised, instead of _Justice_. The cannibal knelt by the shattered remnants of Tashigi's prized blade, carefully avoiding the drying blood. He picked up the hilt, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Six, you mind taking a look at this?" he asked.

"It would be my pleasure," a soft voice said at Smoker's elbow, and it took every ounce of self-control not to whirl. A tall, scrawny-looking young man walked past him, the open white hoodie he wore not concealing at all the massive autopsy scar across his chest. What the hell was he, one of Grigori's experiments? The uncannily still expression on his face pointed in that direction even more than the scarring did.

The blue-haired man stood at the Butcher Bird's side, and the cannibal handed him Shigure's hilt. "You think…?" he half-asked.

The scrawny man paused, and then...blurred. Smoker blinked, and the man's form snapped back into reality.

"Broken, but not... _broken_ ," the blue-haired man said softly. "Interesting. The Blacksmith will want this."

"It's not his to take," Smoker snapped.

Cool blue eyes met Smoker's, Six's expression completely blank. "It is shattered, and so it is, Justicar," the man said, arms folded across his chest.

"You going to give your Ensign a bag full of bits, or do you want to see what happens when she gets a new blade?" the Butcher Bird asked, rising from his crouch and pulling out an ornate pipe.

"You..are trying to manipulate me."

"Is it working?"

"No." Yes.

The cannibal cocked his head. "Aw. Was hoping we could do things the easy way."

Smoker's hand was starting to throb, as the adrenaline ebbed out of his system. He focused on that, instead of the cannibal's mocking pity. "You didn't answer my question," he said, carefully ignoring Six moving past him - and only because trying to stop him was almost certainly what the Butcher Bird wanted, an excuse to start a fight, and _not_ because Six and the Butcher Bird's words almost certainly meant Tashigi would have a new blade. "What do you want, _cannibal_?"

The Butcher Bird chuckled. "You know, that word pisses me off."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have decided to snack on human beings."

"You assume I _had a choice_ ," the creature hissed. "You want to play the assumption game, Commodore? Let's play, _tyrant_." The creature's eyes glittered, an icy blue. "After all...makes you wonder, what people see Marines as, when despite all the work you put in, all the pirates you saved Loguetown from, all the kindness and gentleness you showed...people still cleared themselves from their path, still _begged you to spare their children_ when they inconvenienced you."

Smoker took a step back, laying a hand on his jutte as memories went through his mind. "I will not claim," he said evenly, "that Marines can't be corrupt. That people didn't have a good reason to think ill of me, especially with what the East Blue can be like. But I never raised my hand to someone who wasn't a criminal, or harmed people who didn't deserve it. Can you say the same?"  
The Butcher Bird shrugged. "No. But I don't claim to be supporting Justice, do I? And I've fought pirates who step over the line and turn out to be complete jackasses. Can _you_ say the same, for the Marines in the Blues?" He bared his teeth. "My eyes see far, Marine, and it's far enough to know that the Navy's rotten to the core. Least when pirates sack a town it's called that, rather than 'exceptional taxation'. And at least I police my own."

"You can claim that the Marines are rotten all you want," Smoker said flatly, glaring at the man. "But what have _you_ done, that's not just slaughter? Killing someone without so much as a trial doesn't make you a hero."

"Oh, I know that. I'm a monster, Commodore, I own that. I've eaten people, and for all that my species didn't give me the slightest bit of _choice_ in that, for all that I've found better ways since, it's still a sin." The creature laughed. "But if I'm a monster, at least I'm one that'll put down the things that are worse than I can ever hope to be. At least I _fight._ That's why, for all my respect for you, you still _piss me the fuck off._ You _don't_ fight, you just...endure."

Smoker felt his lips peel back from his teeth. "You seem to think I'm knuckling under."

"Did Nezumi ever see 'justice' for his corruption?"

Smoker laughed, even as part of him took in the fact that a South Blue pirate knew names and details of an East Blue captain. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe," he said. "When the 'hero of Alabasta' adds his weight to the complaints of an entire island chain, when an entire crew of fishmen gives testimony that he was the one Arlong the Saw dealt with...the last damn thing that man accomplished was posting Straw Hat's bounty. Internal Affairs might grind long, but when that much weight lands it grinds _very_ fine indeed."

"Well, how about that," the Butcher Bird said, lighting a match with a flick of his thumb and lighting his pipe in turn. "Only took, what, a decade, and how many dead at Arlong's hands?"

"You want to put blame for how long it took, blame the murderous pirate who set up in the weakest sea. We lost people, too, don't you forget."

"Isn't that how it always goes? The good and the eager and the idealists die, and that just leaves the monsters and the cynics to carry on," the Butcher Bird said quietly.

"Not always," Smoker said, the wide smile of the Straw Hat brat flitting through his brain for a moment. Then he focused. "And you're still avoiding answering. For the third and final time, _what do you want?"_

"Right now? Trying to figure out why you still follow a corrupt system. Long term?" The Butcher Bird exhaled a cloud of smoke, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were red, with black sclerae shot through with veins, those same veins standing out crimson under the skin around his eyes. "It says so on my coat, doesn't it? _Retribution._ Balance."

"That could mean anything."

"Then let me tell you a story, Commodore. There was a kingdom, once, seven islands linked as one, one deep below the earth, one far above it, the rest on the ocean as islands should be. Those who first colonized the centermost island named the formation Yggdrassil, after the Tree of Worlds of myth, and they had reason to, because different peoples came to each island, in time. Giants, dwarves, castaways of the Demon Tribe, the Angels of sky islands, snakenecks and longarms. And humans, most of all humans, who ruled in the center island, which they named Asgard. The Angels tried to conquer the other six, once, but the humans, led by their queen Arima Ali Zun, fought back. Such was the scale of the clash between her and the leader of the Angels, Nitoryu Michael, that it ripped the Sky island of Valhalla in twain, leaving the lesser part moored above Asgard and the greater a free-floating mass. Arima Ali Zun united the seven kingdoms into one, placed her son and heir to rule Asgard, and named each royal a Councillor, giving them a piece of her regalia to mark their position. And for centuries, there was peace." The Butcher Bird paused. "And then, of course, betrayal. An usurping heir, a king who wanted to remove his people from the heavy hand of the World Government - madness, of course, or so they claimed - and six other Councillors who the heir whispered to, until all of them fell upon the reigning King. He fought, of course, but was overcome, and fell from his tower on the highest peak of Asgard's mountains to the ocean below." The creature smiled. "The Councillors learned the price of treachery, that day. The relics of Ali Zun's line were not mere decoration. They were a mark of oaths given and bargains struck, and they turned on their wielders as only those most ancient of artifacts could. Not enough to kill them, no, but enough to inconvenience, to mark their betrayal to all who saw them. The heir left her kingdom, to wander the earth. The Angel became a conqueror once more, turning his eyes to islands in other skies and taking the free half of Valhalla with him. And the remaining five...festered, as rot set into the Sevenfold Kingdom, and the vultures who called themselves Emperors came to take what they could again and again and again."

The Butcher Bird exhaled. "But nobody reckoned that the old king had not died. Lost an eye, aye, but gained wisdom for it. And he wandered the earth as well...searching for something he could use, to take revenge."

"And he found you," Smoker said.

"Half-mad from hunger and hate, but yes. He cut me down in one blow, challenged me to seek him out, and then left. I found him once again, and thus was bargain struck. For him, revenge against the traitors. For me, training."

"So despite all your rhetoric, it's just murder, isn't it," Smoker said flatly.

The Butcher Bird's eyes blazed. "It would not end with those seven, Commodore."

"Then who? The population of the kingdom, for not overthrowing the Councillors in turn? The Marines in their entirety? Royals who didn't come to the old king's aid? Who would you kill next, and when would it stop? Would you keep going like a mad dog, always finding new justifications? Or would you finally see sense and stand trial for your crimes? When would it end?"

"It would end," the Butcher Bird said, something creeping into his voice, his shoulders hunching and his fingers curling into hooked claws. "When this world became _**just. Year after year, decade after decade, century after century we've seen you humans piss away the inheritance and wisdom of your ancestors, slowly sliding closer to war and self-made oblivion with every step,**_ **blind** _**to reality. Your rulers are delusional**_ **children** _ **, spoiled so much they think themselves gods on earth, and I am**_ **tired** _**of seeing the generations pass with so little to show for it. Eight centuries they've kept the world yoked, and it has reached the point where there is nothing worth salvaging from the decrepit corpse of their ideals."**_ The Butcher Bird took a step forward, scales bulging from the veins around his eyes, too-sharp teeth bared in a snarl as the air around him _rippled_ with heat. " _ **I would see a**_ **just** _ **world replace this one of slaughter and corruption, see a system I can look upon without wanting to rend it to shreds, and if that day ever comes I will surrender myself to an impartial jury of my peers and go to whatever fate they decide gladly. And if I cannot change the world for the better...if even the removal of the cancer that you dare call leadership fails before the short-sightedness and idiocy of humankind, then I will gather what I deem precious to me close...and I will let that unjust world**_ **burn.** "

The Butcher Bird stopped, chest heaving, and took a step back, closing his eyes and visibly mastering himself. "That," he said, voice clear of the horrible, tearing snarl that had infused it, "is what I want, Commodore. Does that answer your question?"

Smoker sighed, and flicked ash off his cigar. "Yeah. Suppose it does." He chuckled. "It's funny."

"What is?"

"For a second there, you sounded almost like Akainu."

He turned, and walked away. The Butcher Bird did not follow him.

 _Beep...beep...beep…_

Tashigi groaned. Her _everything_ hurt. What had she gotten up to -

" _Remember that, next time we meet."_

Oh. That.

She shouldn't have lost her temper like that. Even if Herman hadn't been as strong as he was...urgh. Words didn't justify drawing on someone, even words that had practically been aimed at mocking her - and, she realized, aimed right at making her so pissed off it'd taken two broken ribs for her to get her act together.

Speaking of, said ribs weren't hurting nearly as much as she'd thought, and she couldn't feel stitches or anything in the injuries she _knew_ she'd taken...how long had she been out?

She opened her eyes, squinting as the sudden influx of light seemed to sear straight into her brain, and immediately closed them because _what the fuck was Alley Doc Vinci doing in her hospital room._

"Well that's just inconsiderate. Go to all this trouble to fix you, and you act like a rabbit in its burrow."

Tashigi's eyes snapped open, and she glared at the man. "What did you do?"

"Like I said, fixed you. Your Commodore and my blacksmith both wanted you up and about quickly, the doctors here are barely competent enough to boil water much less deal with what Herman did to you in a timely fashion, and despite your commanding officer's clear reluctance to let me work he eventually consented to having me do so under supervision. It's like he expected me to stick a bomb in you or something. No trust whatsoever. Eh, them both agreeing on something and then growling at each other like junkyard dogs was amusing enough it was worth it." The green-eyed man grinned. "So. How do you feel?"

"Worse than I want, better than I expected," she growled. "What did you do to me?"

"Same thing I give out to my own crew, for treating injuries. Quite safe, don't you worry. Actually, judging by how that Josef fellow was vibrating when I told him about it, I should probably see if I can patent and sell it, now that I'm not going to get arrested. The science behind it is _quite_ beyond you, but the full-body ache should recede after we get some food into you, heavy on the proteins." The man paused, then tossed her a small object, which she barely caught. "Might want to check yourself over, though, preventing scarring was pretty low on the list of priorities."

She paused, one hand going to her face, and feeling a raised, hardened line tracing across the left side. She picked up the object - a small hand mirror - and opened it up to get a better look.

One of Shigure's pieces - and that hurt to even _think_ , at the moment, worse than she ached physically - had clearly been quite jagged, judging from the roughness of the scar that twisted its way up from just past the left side of her mouth all the way to her ear. Said ear, she belatedly noticed, was missing its lobe.

"Well," she said. "At least I won't have to worry about people not taking me seriously anymore."

"Dahahahaha! That's the spirit."

"How long have I been out?" she asked.

"Eh, it took them what, ten minutes to get you here, another fifteen to argue the Marines into letting me help, thirty for the actual surgery...about two, three hours."

So fast…wait.

"It's an hour by rail to get here from the Center, and that's where you were," she said. "How on earth did you…?"

"Gonna tell you the same thing I told everyone else," the man said, grin wide and blinding. " _Bitch, I can teleport."_

"Been meaning to ask how that worked," a voice said from an open window, and Tashigi glared as the Butcher Bird's face popped into view, upside-down. "Seriously, you said yourself that you had to limit it to a hundred meters or less, or you'd risk brain damage."

"Yeah, sure, but I just reset my brain to how it was _before_ I jumped, and it's fine."

Oh God, they'd let a crazy person operate on her.

Despite that, Tashigi found she couldn't muster up the energy for full-on panic.

"How are you captain again?" the Butcher Bird asked.

"I assumed it was because of my charming personality."

"Is that what we're calling gibbering lunacy these days?"

"Well, I say it is, so there. Are you going to stay there like a gargoyle?"

"Probably. I like it up here."

"I don't," another voice interjected, drifting in from outside. "It's cold up here."

"Use that giant woman's coat of yours. It makes you look like you're wearing a bear, you should be damn well warm enough under it."

"It's not a woman's coat, it's my coat, and I'm wearing it and it's _still_ cold. You're not making Six stay out here."

"Six will probably literally die if I leave him out in the cold."

"Yeah, and so will I."

The Butcher Bird threw up - down? - his hands. "Siblings," he said flatly. "Well, that's my cue to leave, if only to stop C from whining so damn much."

"Shut up, Brother."

"No, you shut up."

Tashigi vaguely considered the possibility that she was, in fact, dead, and this some strange form of purgatory. That, or she was on the _really_ good drugs.

The absolutely horrifying upside-down grin the Butcher Bird gave her did nothing to dispel that impression. "Oi, Tashigi. Get ready soon, Herman's taking an interest in you." His eyes flickered over her, and he sniffed. "Well, no accounting for taste, I suppose," he said, before he fell past the window and out of sight.

"Does he enjoy fucking with people?" Tashigi asked faintly.

Grigori just laughed.


	73. Chapter 94

It was, at least academically speaking, interesting, Six supposed.

Nothing could permanently harm Kaneki physically - even Haki-inflicted injuries, according to his own accounts, simply took longer to heal.

Mentally? It seemed that words would suffice, especially ones such as those the Justicar had spoken.

Six had done his research on the Red Dog, and failed to see why comparison had harmed Kaneki to such a degree as had already become apparent - in public, with Marines watching, he remained the same, but private appearances with nobody save the Oni, Six, or C around it was different, morose silences and eyes darting from place to place as if he expected to be attacked any second. And...worse.

It did not make sense. Comparison to the Red Dog should not have been injurious, especially because it was not accurate.

Kaneki was the Dragon, full of wrath, yes, but it was...directed. And wrath was not the sole deciding factor in him - if anything, it was the least of him, a response that drew from the greater aegis of _protecting the hoard._ His existence upheld a Law: _that which I claim is mine, and none shall steal from me what is mine._

The Red Dog, by contrast, upheld no Laws. Much like most of the Marines, his purpose was empty, following orders from above without question, doing nothing to assert himself in the world and mold it as someone should. It was just...acquiescence, repeating the tired commands and 'rules' of others _as if_ they were Laws, without question. Wrath and brutality and ruin, decades of it, but none of it with _purpose_ to it, just upholding the tired illusions of others.

And yet…

And yet, when the Justicar had compared them, it had struck deep. Or perhaps merely been the stone that started an avalanche. Six did not have the expertise in psychological phenomena to unravel what was going on in Kaneki's mind, nor did the Bosun.

But Six knew who did.

He didn't much like the Center - it was too _white_ , internally and externally, too bright for its purpose, buzzing fluorescent lights and scurrying researchers, but it was where the Captain could be found, and so Six went.

The Captain was busy, talking energetically with a weasely-looking man in a lab coat, but that didn't matter - even the Captain couldn't remain busy forever. Six leaned his back against the nearest wall, and waited, catching half-heard snatches of the conversation.

"-aquifers already seeded. Probably Revolutionary-"

"-purpose? It's doubtful, looks more like intended to tie down-"

"-medicines keep it in remission, but curing it is proving-"

"-fifty years-"

"-speak for what might happen, but maybe with-"

"-I don't believe that I-"

"-lethal as symptoms progress, invariably-"

"-have to deal with-"

"Heya, Six. How long you been standing there?"

Six blinked, and broke eye contact with the Captain to check his watch (something he had purchased with his own pay yesterday). "Two hours," he answered truthfully.

The Captain frowned. "I hope I didn't make you ignore something important just to talk to me," he said.

"The talking _is_ the important thing." Six paused, and looked at the weasely man. "Can we speak privately?" he asked the Captain.

The Captain nodded, and motioned for Six to follow him as he led them out of the room with the weasely man and deeper into the Center, locating an abandoned room with ease - it appeared to be some form of auditorium, perhaps meant for large lectures or presentations.

"What is it that needs talking about, Six?" Vinci asked.

"Kaneki," Six answered simply. "I am...increasingly worried. Something is clearly wrong with him, and it is getting worse. But I do not understand what. You might."

"I've noticed," Vinci said calmly. "I was planning to bring it up with him...but what have you, personally, noticed?"

Six paused, thinking over every moment he'd spent with Kaneki over the past couple of days. "He is becoming...increasingly agitated, for one. Even sparring does little to relieve it. He stares into distances, he is easily startled, and I believe I saw him trying to speak to someone that was not present. And he has not slept since the Justicar spoke to him. I am uncertain, but I believe he may have begun suffering visual and auditory hallucinations. I heard him tell someone who was not present to 'shut up', at least once."

Vinci nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, but C might know more. He has a greater tolerance for cold than I do, and accompanies Kaneki more often."

"I see. Thank you, Six, for letting me know about this. It appears I underestimated just how badly Smoker's words could affect Kaneki. Or overestimated his mental stability." He sighed. "It appears I will have to have a talk with him."

* * *

Kaneki, Vinci had come to realize, got fidgety and flighty when he was dealing with...well, anything really, but specifically problems he couldn't simply murder away. And while usually those problems tended to get resolved, and Kaneki returned to normalcy, that hadn't been happening the past couple of days. If anything, Kaneki had gotten jumpier, almost to the point of instability. Actually, definitely to the point of instability, the whole reason Vinci had dragged him onto this rowboat and off the island entirely was because he'd responded to being tapped on the shoulder by drop-kicking the unfortunate Wolf through two walls. The Wolf had been fine, but between Jack's complaints about paying for damages and the fact that _Six_ had come to him with concerns about Kaneki's mental health beforehand, Something Had To Be Done, and thus it fell to Vinci to figure out what was eating at his first mate.

He pulled the rowboat's oars through yet another stroke, keeping an eye on where Kaneki sat on the other end of the small skiff, huddled in on himself. The ghoul had managed to keep up pretenses in front of the Marines thus far, but out here, with nobody to see save Vinci? He was a wreck.

It beggared belief. Smoker had not even said anything that Kaneki (or Kaneki as Vinci saw) would have been predisposed to take seriously. But there were other factors at play. An entire lifetime's worth of memories, if what Kaneki had said was true, and that could have changed things, opened new vulnerabilities. Certainly what the Oni had told him of Kaneki's confrontation with Smoker spoke of a sudden loss of control, beyond anything Vinci had seen before.

Possibilities spun in Vinci's mind as he rowed, theories formed and discarded in an instant as he watched Kaneki carefully. The big man remained seated, arms wrapped around his knees and lips moving silently.

 _Not real, not real, stay away, stay away._

"What isn't real?" Vinci asked, and Kaneki startled.

"Uh...nothing, Captain, it's just-"

"Kaneki," Vinci said flatly. "Answer."

Kaneki swallowed. "You...you're going to think I'm crazy."

"That would be immensely hypocritical of me."

Kaneki's breath hisses through clenched teeth, and he scrubs his hands through his hair. "Static," he says finally. "Started as that. Bits of motion, corners of my eyes. From the moment I woke up after...finishing off Killer."

"Smoker…"

" _Nothing_ to do with it. Well, no. A little. Set them to work, maybe, gave them an opening, I don't know. What I'm seeing, what I'm hearing...swear that it's Killer, just, standing there, waiting. Getting closer. And what I'm hearing…"

"Well?"

"Was the dragon, at first. I told you about him, right?"

Vinci nodded.

"He's getting louder. Pushing more and more. And half the damn time, can't tell if it's him or Killer talking. And…"

"And?" Vinci asked, continuing to row. They were almost there, now.

"And the more he pushes, more static there is, more I can feel things crawling under my skin. Wanting to be let out. I get angrier, too, and the worse the anger gets the more the scales move and then I get angrier and it hurts and I can't-"

"Kaneki," Vinci said quietly, as the keel of their rowboat grinds on sand. "We're here."

Kaneki's head snapped up, eyes already red - not black, the bloodshot veins filling out the black sclerare entirely - as he looked at the island.

"This," Vinci explained, stepping onto the barren beach, "is Shithole. Too small for a proper magnetic field. Nothing grows here, it's a little spot of barren rock and dirt with little to show for it. Used to be a popular spot to maroon someone, back in the day." He looked out across the island, the barren stretches of broken rock and boulders, a few pillars and crags reaching up into the sky. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have figured out you wouldn't divulge that kind of stuff unless I asked."

"Would've," Kaneki muttered, standing up and removing his coat. "What now? Gonna stick me here?"

"Hardly. It would be a waste."

"So what's the plan, Captain?"

"I need you to stop holding back," Vinci answered.

Kaneki's expression turned stony. "No. No way. Ain't happening."

"Is," Vinci insisted.

"Last time I let the scaly bastard out to play, he nearly killed C, would've killed everyone he got his hands on, and _you want me to let him out right in front of you?!_ " Kaneki made an X with his arms, shaking his head. "No, Captain. Not going to do it. Make it an order if you like, I'm not going to."

Vinci sighed, and lit a cigarette. "Your error," he said calmly, "is assuming that there is a difference between you and the dragon, between the two of you and Killer."

"I cut the bastard away from me for a reason, Captain, and I don't want him back. I'll work with him, I'll listen, _but I won't let him get control._ He's hate and malice and the worst possible parts of me, _and I can't let him out."_

Reason had clearly failed, then. Vinci tsked. "And what if 'he' just drives you mad, and takes control anyway?"

"I'll take that chance," Kaneki growled.

Vinci shrugged, and put one hand in a pocket of his lab coat. "There's nothing I can say, then?"

"Are you nuts, no there's nothing you-"

Vinci _stepped_ out, reality shattering around him and then reforming as he landed behind Kaneki, hand lashing out. The syringe slammed past the steel-hard skin of Kaneki's neck, and sent its payload home. Vinci leapt back to avoid Kaneki's retaliatory swing, the ghoul snarling at him.

" _The fuck did you do, Vinci."_

Vinci cocked his head. "Life or death. If that won't make you accept what you are...well, nothing will. And that lack of acceptance is what's slowly killing you. So. Life or death, Kaneki. That C-Cell suppressant can be overridden, but there's only one way, and I think you already know what that is."

"No," Kaneki said quietly, eyes going distant. "No, no, no no no…"

"The choice is yours," Vinci said, regretting the necessity of this but knowing he needed to do it all the same. "You can accept, or you can die at my hand. The latter's a mercy, if you insist on continuing as you are you'll go berserk somewhere populated, and I know you don't want that. The former...we'll see. So. You going to make this easy?"

Kaneki laughed, harsh and hateful, and the fact that he had all the reason to do it nearly made Vinci's heart break, but _this needed to be done._

"Fuck you, Vinci," he said, black tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I _refuse._ "

"So that's how it is," Vinci said, keeping his voice empty. He swung.

* * *

The thought 'he's fucking with me, he wouldn't dare' vanishes the moment the scythe nearly connects with my neck.

The thought 'I can handle this, even without tendrils or wings' leaves minutes later.

The thought 'I might just survive' follows it.

I duck and roll, barely avoiding another flying slash that rips the rock around me to pieces. I'm aching and torn, right arm hanging useless after a scalpel cut some tendons that I _can't heal_ , but I'm still moving, I just need to outlast -

 _-LISTEN -_

-static rips into my vision again, thicker than ever, and I scream, shoving the dragon back away as I leap away from Vinci's swinging scythe.

Can't let him out. He'd destroy everything. Death or him free, I choose death.

 _-FOOL-_

"SHUT UP!" I scream back at it, mistiming another dodge and paying for it as a flying scalpel clips my ribs, the jolt of pain making me stumble. "Shut up, shut up shut UP!"

It'd gotten so bad so quickly, how had it done that? There should've been an understanding, a bargain, a -

Lightning.

I fall, muscles twitching spastically, and taste blood as my nose breaks on the rocks. It hurts. _Everything_ hurts. Static and blurs of illusory motion fill my vision, and the dragon's voice is everywhere, sounding louder with every heartbeat. But I drag my head up, hands and knees. Need to keep moving, to keep…

"Kaneki," Vinci says, so calm, and for a moment I hate the very expression on his face. "You think I enjoy this? I don't. I can't. It hurts to do something like this, but..."

I spit out a mouthful of blood. "Me or the crew. Captain."

- _MAKE US WHOLE-_

"I don't understand it," Vinci says, voice so soft. "Why stop here?"

"What?"

"You cut him away, I can understand. You made a bargain, for power, I can understand. I can't understand why it stops here. Why you refuse to accept." He pauses, and his form moves closer in my blurring vision. "I've looked at you. At everyone, in the crew. There's never been more than one thing inside you, not before you put down Killer, and not after. I don't understand why you hold onto this lie, when it's _killing_ you, Kaneki."

"It isn't a lie."

"It is. Six doesn't call you Dragon for your taste in masks."

"Part of me. Not the whole thing. Never."

"Do you think letting him in will change that? You say he's rage, hate, and malice. So what? Even if you let that part in, does that outweigh the rest of you?"

- _MAKE-_

"It's enough to tip the scales," I growl.

 _-US-_

"To make you what?"

 _-WHOLE-_

"Akainu," I rasp, pushing myself back to my feet, ignoring dizziness. "Let him leak through too much, and I already sound like the bastard. Let him join, and what's to keep me from being as bad?"

Vinci pauses for a moment.

And then he laughs.

"You think that's fucking funny?" I growl.

"Think it's hilarious you think you could hope to be nearly as bad as the Red Dog," Vinci says. "I _know_ you, Kaneki. And you've got something Akainu won't ever have."

"What?"

"People you give a shit about. Oh, you and him, you're both zealots, I'll give your fears that much, but he doesn't have a damn thing he won't discard. His only principles are that the Marines can do whatever they please, because they're just, and he'd turn on his oldest allies in an instant if they crossed his lines. You, Kaneki, you hold on to people. You trust them to tell you when you're wrong. And right now, you need to listen to me. Let your control loose. Accept. Even the worst of you is better than him."

"And if it kills you?" I rasp.

"You can try your best. I can assure you. You won't succeed. And even if, by some miracle, you nearly do...Third Gear's always an option."

 _Make us whole_ , the dragon (or is it Killer?) whispers.

"Do you really think," I say softly, "that I'm so much better? That whatever I become won't do its damnedest to unmake a world it hates?"

"If you don't trust my vision...trust Six. He saw to the core of you, and instead of fear, he found safety. Even if you and the Red Dog would rather see the world burn if it won't change...I think even the worst of you would keep your friends from the blaze."

"I tried to kill C."

"Was that because of the dragon, or the brain damage?"

"I can't risk it."

"And yet you must."

 _So close…_ the dragon croons. In the corners of my vision, I see wings, and bladed hands.

"Swear."

"Pardon?"

"If you're wrong...swear you'll finish me off. I'm already a monster...and yet killing you would be worse than everything else I've done, put together. Swear that you won't let that happen."

"Is that it? If you think I'd _let you_ , you have another thing coming. I've got _far_ too much to do to die, little dragon."

I laugh. "Then fine. You asked for it. You really, really did."

* * *

 _There was a place that was not a place, a hill of white clover._

 _The dragon smiled._

 **Is it time?** _It asked the boy._

 _The boy looked at it._ **I have but one question.**

 **Ask,** _the dragon said, willing to indulge in its moment of triumph._

 **Was there a reason, you tried to take my brother from me?** _the boy asked._

 _The dragon paused._ **I…** _It stopped._ **I made a mistake,** _it said, and despite its nature a note of sorrow touched its voice._ **I was younger. And it** _ **hurt**_ **, so badly. I thought that what was not us could not be trusted. That it would leave. That it would** _ **hurt us.**_ **I thought…**

 **That if you took it away, I couldn't be hurt when the world took it instead,** _the boy said._ **What has changed, then, that I should indulge my captain and trust you?**

 **You gave me eyes,** _the dragon answered._ **A voice in your ear. And I learned, from watching by myself instead of your frozen memories. They are...precious. For all that they might die.**

 **Yes** , _the boy said._ **They are.**

 **Is it in you, for forgiveness?** _the dragon pleaded._ **Will you make us whole?**

 _The boy sighed._ **And what would happen? Do not dare lie.** **I know your pride and your power, and you would seek to consume me.**

 **Is that what** _ **will**_ **happen, or what you fear?** _the dragon asked._ **Nothing need be lost. Trust me.**

 **Trust,** _the boy - or was it a man? - replied,_ **must be earned.**

 **A bargain, then,** _the dragon said._ **We both love them so.**

 **Trust,** _the boy offered,_ **and a promise, to finish what is begun.**

 **Power** , _the dragon granted,_ **and might, to survive the storm.**

 **Agreed,** _they both said, and dragon and man ceased to be._

…

… …

… … ...

 **...NIDHOGGR** _woke._

* * *

Vinci had to use his scythe to anchor himself as the spot where Kaneki had been _exploded_ , a raw wave of heat and power ripping through the air and sending chips of rock flying every which way. And he laughed, because it had been _worth it._

What stepped out was a beautiful thing, if only the size of a man. Scales, a deep scarlet, covered every inch of its body from snout to long spiked tail. Great batlike wings, lined with crystal, emerged from its back, and clawed feet bit at the earth. A maw full of razor-sharp teeth hung open, grinning wide. Steam and red mist flowed from its body like water, and the latter carved at the rock around it with every second.

"Well?" Vinci asked. "Feeling any more genocidal than before?"

The miniature dragon huffed. " **Very funny. Also, it's time for payback."**

"Huh?"

" _ **Dear**_ **captain, did you really think you could pull something like this? Dragging me out here, trying in all earnest to kill me, just to prove a point? Call it tough love if you like, but that's going to have consequences. Don't worry. I'll be gentle."** The dragon's smile turned much less reassuring, and Vinci paled.

Maybe this hadn't been worth it after _OH GOD THE PAIN!_


	74. Chapter 95

Every city, no matter how close a Marine base was or how tight the World Government's grip on it could get, had an underbelly. Hell, even the simple fact of the Marines owning most of the docks and having eyes on the rest had merely inspired the local smugglers to get...creative.

Jack leaned back in his chair, mindful of the creaking the poor abused piece of furniture gave under his weight, and threw back another tankard of ale. Didn't do a damn thing, these days, but he did honestly appreciate it.

The tavern's door swung open, letting in noise from the street outside.

" _Don't you want to do your duty to the world? Join the Marines, see the-"_

It cut off just as quickly, as the man - the last of their party - closed it. "Fucking Marine recruiters," the grizzled old man growled. "Why'd they get the idea to start drumming for recruits _now_?"

"New officer moved on in," Jack answered. "The White Hunter, Commodore Smoker. Apparently, they're getting a battleship set up for him, and that needs men to crew it."

"So they come on down here for the desperate and the naive," one of the men at the table - who appeared to be little more than a bright yellow raincoat and hat with little round glasses to conceal his eyes - concluded.

"Well, not as though they'll find much," the other, a spindly, spidery-looking man, said with a thin smile. "Still, what brings the Bosun of the Nightmare Pirates down here?"

Jack laced his fingers together. "How many of your men have bounties on their heads, or warrants out for their arrest?" he asked the combined heads of the Thieves', Smuggler's, and Assassin's Guilds of Arlen.

All three of the men went very still. "If you intend to claim them…" the raincoat-clad smuggler began.

"Peace. It would be pointless, anyway. But...we have a pressing need for men. Ones who won't ask questions, and who aren't particularly fans of the Marines or the World Government."

"Oh? And what do you offer in return?" the thief asked.

"Call it peace of mind. How many men of yours have to lurk in the shadows, and can't show their faces without risking arrest? Join the Nightmares, and, well, we have a right of conscription, and any crimes upon entering the crew...simply won't exist."

The three men were quiet for a moment.

"We've seen what happens to your crew," the assassin said. "And that breeds rumors. Especially types like these...Wraiths, of yours."

"You think you'll never see your men again, because they've been used for horrifying experiments," Jack summarized.

"More or less."

"Well, since I very well can't play on my captain's good name as an associate of the World Government-" -everyone chuckled at that- "-why not a simple demonstration? Wallace?"

The Wraith fell from one of the rafters in utter silence, dark blue cloak fluttering around him. The low lighting of the tavern and the shadows cast by his hood made his skeletal mask seem almost alive, something cold and blue glittering in the depths of the hollow eye sockets.

Jack smacked him in the back of the head. "Knock it off," he growled.

The Wraith gave him the finger, and pulled back its hood, before taking off the mask. And under it...was just a man - a bearded redhead with snaggleteeth and freckles. Wallace grinned. "Heya, you lot. Got concerns? I mean, sure, the Cogs are a bunch of creepy chittering fuckers, but rest of us are normal enough. Well, normal as Nightmares get. Living in close quarters with the Butcher Bird maaaaay have warped a bit of our perception of that, I'll admit." He shrugged. "Well, see you lot around." And then he was gone.

"That was...disconcerting," the assassin said.

"Welcome to my world," Jack grunted.

"Still," the thief said. "Got a few of my boys who aren't much use at the moment. Decent hands with locks and such, a few skull-crackers too who'll take orders. Not really bright, but you ain't looking for that, I reckon."

"We have quite a few men who would welcome the chance to get away from the city. Permanently, I mean," the smuggler added. "A couple of crack shots, some crafty bastards who stepped on a few too many toes. Some dockhands, too - you know the type."

"Do I even need to state the specialities?" the assassin asked. "We won't have near as many as these two, our work tends to be quieter, but I could likely scare up a few. And in return, what can you offer, beyond you taking these men off our hands?"

Jack smiled. "How about this?" he said, setting down a small glass vial. The red liquid inside gleamed in the low light. Two more vials quickly joined it.

"This," Jack said quietly, "is something I asked the Captain to whip up. Well, after he fixed himself up."

The other three men nodded. Practically everyone who was everyone had seen the Captain limp into town yesterday, looking like he'd been caught in a tornado alongside a razor blade factory and a small army of angry cats. Kaneki had arrived later, immensely ticked off and dragging an entire Sea King with him, which he'd proceeded to disembowel and destroy underwater over the course of several hours. Last Jack'd checked, the water near that area had been permanently dyed red.

"In any case, what it does is quite simple."

"And that is?" the thief asked.

Jack smiled, and told them.

He whistled as he left the tavern, tipping his cap to the Marine recruiter outside, who had drawn a small crowd of perhaps a dozen people.

Meanwhile, Jack had three times that number, ready to be added to the ranks. Wolves, Basilisks, Wraiths, Fae, maybe even a couple Cogs if the twenty chittering bastards took an interest in the recruits or the other way around.

All in all, not a bad day's work.

* * *

C had found a very useful little nook.

First, and most important, it was warm - because it was right next to the chimney of a bakery, which provided heat day and night, enough to keep the cold away.

Second, it provided an excellent vantage point on the Marine shipyards, and the dry dock in which _Ends Justified_ was being rebuilt to Jack and Lauren's exacting specifications.

"So this is where you've been going every day, little brother," Brother said, wings folding away as he alighted on the rooftop. He glanced at the shipyards, where much of the _Ends_ from the keel on up was being rebuilt entirely. They'd fit more people once it was done, nearly twice as many even with the fact that most of them were huge. Proper forge for Herman, gunsmithing tools for Lauren, bigger labs for the Captain. Taking out the normal gun deck, and replacing it with a couple turrets. Five weeks, to do all that - the Marines worked fast, even more when it was, well, one of their ships.

C glanced at Brother, and realized there was somebody missing. Not the Oni - they had all gone elsewhere anyway, mostly to keep Eka out of trouble as he kept on taking the money of every Marine willing to dice with him.

Eka cheated, that was basically a law - or a Law, if you were Six and spoke with capital letters audible half the time.

Six! That was who was missing.

"Where's the other half?

Brother blinked, and then chuckled. "What, you mean Six? We're not attached at the hip. And what do you mean, other half?"

"He contrasts. You're super-angry about stuff, but I don't think I've ever seen him actually angry. You look like a shaved bear, he's all willowy. You bundle up, he's still going around showing off abs despite it being way too cold. You have normal color hair that's weirdly shaped, he's got normal shaped hair that's weirdly colored."

"Oi, what the hell's wrong with my hair?"

"You look like you glued a dead shrub to your scalp, Brother."

Brother growled at him. C stuck his tongue out.

"Brat," Brother said affectionately, sitting down next to him. "Still. Six is Six. It's not like he's trying to contrast with me."

"Mhm. So where is he?"

"Ugh, fine, he's in the bakery down here. Said he wanted to buy some stuff."

C smiled slightly. "Knew it."

"Hush, you."

C hushed, and kept an eye on the Marine builders and their ship. Further down in the dockyards, the skeletal shapes of battleships stood, in varying bits of completion. Big, metal hulls, mostly. Some were nearly done.

Hm. Brother was looking a lot better, ever since he'd beaten up the Captain. There wasn't that scent edging from frustration to madness, anymore, either. Good for him.

A bell rang below them, and Brother leaned over the edge of the roof and extended a tendril downwards. Six came up with it very swiftly, a paper bag in hand and a croissant in his mouth. Brother set him down on the roof gently, and returned to his spot next to C.

Six, naturally, sat very close to Brother. Brother blinked at that, before chuckling. "You're cold, aren't you?"

Six made a noise like one of the stray cats C had seen around town had when someone had scratched it behind the ears, and leaned into Brother, who laughed and wrapped a tendril around him.

"Dork," Brother said gently. "I need to get you warmer clothes."

Six bopped him on the head with his croissant. "Don't want them. Got you," the cook said serenely.

"Oh, so I'm just a mobile space heater, then?"

"One of your numerous good qualities. Given that we are not actively fighting anyone and the Revenant and the Bosun are handling training on the new recruits, it is currently the most important of them." Six took a bite out of his croissant. "So, technically, yes."

"Jerk," Brother muttered with a small smile.

Six cocked his head. "I believe Dui had a more accurate way of referring to me."

"Oh?"

"His definition was 'A walking generator of sass'."

Brother laughed. C looked at the two of them, and thought a little.

"Brother?"

"Yeah, C?"

"Where do babies come from?"

* * *

Lauren, quite frankly, was bored stiff.

Okay, yes, Vinci had dragged her to the Center under the pretense of keeping an eye on 'things' (and by things, he meant 'whatever I cook up in a deliberate campaign to slowly drive the researchers into insanity'), but the real goal was to wander around the Center and map the place out as best she could.

That'd taken about an hour.

The Center consisted of five towers, four smallish ones and a much larger central spire. That big one in the middle was where the rail line led, and the linkage point for the other four via glassed-in hallways. Hell, the other towers weren't even that important as far as she could tell - they might even be somewhat legitimate. The big one, though?

Well, to put it bluntly, she didn't trust the story about it being just a place for labs and clerical work. Part of it was how the building plans didn't account for a huge shaft in the very center of the spire. Part of it was her well-honed sense of hearing being able to make out people moving into and out of that spire, and the sounds of grinding gears and pulleys that resulted every time they did.

And a really big part of it was the fact she never saw nor heard hide nor hair of Vinci's cousin, once he entered that shaft right up till he left it.

She could put a guess at where the shaft ended, just from getting a good look at the foundations, but she wasn't Vinci or Jack, and her best guess was just that.

Maybe she should get Six up here, if she could find a crowbar to pry him away from his cannibalistic teddy bear. One decent vibration in the right place would ring the tower like a bell, and give everyone a good idea of what they were dealing with.

But that wasn't her problem, and having accomplished everything she reasonably could, she'd done the only thing she could think of to deal with her boredom.

Namely, climb to the top of that incredibly huge spire, and alleviate her boredom by testing her latest heavy rifle on most of the mountains.

 _Boom._

Lauren counted off the seconds, then smiled as she saw through her rifle's scope a very large tree turn itself into a cloud of flying splinters, a second explosion rippling through the air.

Maybe she should rent out her services for landscaping.

"Uh, miss? I'm…"

"A distraction," she replied to the voice. Young, male, uncertain. But she sighed anyway, and looked up from her prone position to glance at the voice's owner.

They sent a fucking kid up here?

The brat - and despite the fact he was in Marine whites, complete with big white cloak, and thus of an age to enlist, he looked so damn baby-faced she couldn't think of him as anything but - smiled sunnily, hazel eyes gleaming. "Heya. Sorry for distracting you, but…" He scratched at the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, the Captain wasn't really happy with the explosions. It's spooking some of the lab guys."

"Hmph. So he sent you up here to make me stop?" Lauren asked, safing the rifle and sitting up to keep an eye on the brat.

"Well, kinda. I was the only one willing to do it."

She turned an appraising eye on him. "That so? Marines here must be soft, then. Back home they'd have walked right on in."

"Well, you are kinda scary, ehehehe…."

"Kinda my point, brat," she said, lighting a cigarette. "Wouldn't matter, to them."

The brat paused. "Aren't you a pirate?" he asked.

"Yeah, and? Seen the boys and girls in white stand up to worse than me, back in the South Blue. Fought alongside them more than I've fought against them, too."

"Huh." The brat leaned against one of the hunks of metal that dotted the roof - what the machinery was for, she couldn't guess, it just sat in its box and made noise. "Aren't you cold?" he asked.

"Ain't felt cold for a while, kid. Captain did his work on me, so I don't need to worry about that sort of thing." She cocked her head, part of her running the numbers, assessing the brat's stance, weapons, and build. Unprepared, rifle with scope on his back, scrawny. "What's your name, brat?"

"Uh...Simo. Lyudmilo Simo."

"Hmph. You a sniper?"

"Er...yes, actually."

She chuckled, and picked up her rifle. She ejected the magazine of explosive shells, worked the bolt to rid herself of the shell in the chamber, and reloaded the massive weapon with solid shot. She presented the thing to him butt-first. "Prove it," she said simply.

Hell, at least it promised to not be _boring._

The brat nearly staggered under the weight of the huge rifle, but he drew himself up manfully - well, as manfully as a five foot four scrawny little shit like him could manage - and walked to the edge of the roof, scanning the horizon. "Name a target?" he asked.

She pointed at a distant mountaintop. "See that weird little crag sticking out there?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Hit that."

"I'm...gonna need a ranging shot, first."

"Fair enough, send it."

The rifle roared, and the brat paused. "Okay, think I've got it. Ow, by the way. This thing kicks."

"Quit whining."

"Wasn't," the brat said, and the rifle roared again. Lauren tracked the bullet as it fell - low, way too low, what was he -

The bullet bounced off another crag, deflected into an adjacent mountaintop, bounced off _that_ , and then finally connected with the crag she'd designated.

Lauren chuckled. "Show-off. Right, well, that's adequate enough."

The brat nodded, sitting back up after safing the rifle. "Uh, thanks, I guess? What's the gun's name?"

Lauren grinned, knifelike. "Longinus," she said, savoring every syllable.

"It's a beautiful weapon."

"It's meant to be."

* * *

Vinci was well aware that the various civilian researchers, bar one, were absolutely terrified of him.

Good. It'd make them less likely to try copying his work, at least hopefully for long enough to matter.

He hadn't come (visibly) armed to this little gathering, though, so he wasn't sure what was bothering them so much. Wasn't as though he'd personally threatened them, after all.

Ah, well, he'd take advantage of their fears anyway.

"Gentlemen, ladies, let me make one thing clear," he said, grinning his most evil-looking grin (the one every other officer had deemed 'most likely to give new recruits a heart attack'). "Through the power of science, the age of warriors is over."

He glared at the snail projector. The mollusc visibly paled, and began projecting the image Vinci had selected - a cut-away view of a Wolf's physiology, paring down past skin to muscle, bone, and the various extra organs that their particular Augment added.

"The Wolfsheart, as those who have been Augmented refer to it, serves as a vehicle for full-body genetic drift. Once the process of complete, the augmentee cannot, in any meaningful sense, be considered fully 'human' by traditional assessments." Not his own, of course - Vinci's own definition of humanity encompassed fishmen, mermaids, dwarves, and functionally speaking most humanoids: if everyone could interbreed, putting in arbitrary barriers to humanity was counterproductive and rooted more in bigotry than good science. " _Homo sapiens fenris_ would serve as a more accurate designation," he continued. "Every one of the 'Wolves of the Sea' is immensely strong, capable of lifting multiple tons, and running at an excess of forty kilometers per hour while burdened with a quarter ton of armor plate and full combat kit. Their senses are more acute than almost any human can hope to achieve through purely physical means, including flawless adaptation to night conditions, a sense of smell rivalling that of a well-trained hunting hound, and highly sensitive hearing. Their reflexes are equally honed. In armor, and armed accordingly, I expect a Wolf to be capable of defeating any Captain- or Commodore-rank Marine in a physical confrontation. Devil Fruits and proper training muddy the water, sometimes greatly - I wouldn't back any number of them against Commodore Smoker, and I estimate it would take at least a full squad to incapacitate the likes of Captain T-Bone, but the fact remains that men like these are rare. Meanwhile, all it takes is a well-stocked laboratory facility, cell culturing equipment, and a willing group of implantees...and in a few months, barring exceptional circumstances, you'll have a steady production line of these soldiers. And I do mean _soldiers_ , ladies and gentlemen. They train as one, they march as one, they fight as one."

He grinned ever wider, at the cowed and fearful audience that filled this lecture hall - and at Doctor Franz Josef, who sat with eyes wide and shining with, of all things, hope.

"This," Vinci proclaimed, "is the greatest thing I can grant to the Marines as a whole. The world is filled with monsters...and with Augments, men can gain the strength to fight back. Any questions?"


	75. Chapter 96

Herman was fairly certain whoever had used to own this forge had died. Certainly nobody had shown up to object to him taking the place over, though it'd been a whole week.

He stoked the flames higher, gears turning in his mind as he did so.

Shigure was wrecked, that much was obvious. Reforging the blade was foolish - for one, the temper of the thing would be ruined utterly. For another, the bits and pieces would forever be a series of weak points, liable to break apart at any moment. Melting it down, casting it back into an ingot, and reworking from there had even worse problems. No, reforging wasn't the answer.

Reforging the blade with only its original components, at least.

"So, what's the plan?" Kaneki asked, leaning against one of the beams. "I'm really not a blacksmith, so not sure what you want me here for…"

"How good's your control on what your tendrils are like?" Herman asked, pumping the bellows.

"Uh...never really thought all that much about that. I mean, I can make them harden or soften, I suppose, but that's something I just...do. Why?"

"Can you make one that's basically like metal?"

Kaneki blinked, then cocked his head, eyes going distant. Herman left him to his internal conversation, and began laying Shigure's various pieces out, end to end. The various mountings that made up the hilt, he'd already removed - they'd melt or burn in the heat of the forge fire, and he'd need them later.

"Okay, yeah, I can manage that," Kaneki finally said. "About the same size as the blade?"

Herman nodded.

"Alright, give me a second." The ghoul took off his coat, and cracked his neck. "One tail," he said softly, and one ripped free. The crimson appendage coiled through the air for a moment, before the last third of it abruptly straightened out and froze in place. It slowly began to darken, red draining away and fading to black, and it shrank as it did so, until it was only a handspan thick.

"Okay, this feels really freaking weird," the ghoul said through gritted teeth. "So if you're gonna do-"

Herman cut the affected piece off with a single swing of Amakatta.

"-that. Ow." The tendril dissipated, and Herman picked up the remaining piece. The damn thing weighed twice as much as Amakatta itself, despite being much smaller. He tapped it with a fingernail, ran his hand across it. Hard. Harder than steel could hope to be, yet not as brittle as would be expected. It would melt, though, and recrystallize when he quenched it - he could already tell.

He turned back to his forge, plans running through his head.

First, melt down the pieces of Shigure.

Fire roared. Steel began to glow red-hot, then melt, the liquid metal filling the mold he'd set for it.

He wouldn't be able to preserve the traditional separation of steel types, this way. If he'd been intending to make a blade at all similar to a traditional sword, that would be a problem.

Herman retrieved the mold, and tapped it against the anvil, dislodging the red-hot solid ingot. He hefted a hammer in his other hand, breathed in, breathed out.

Blow after blow after blow fell down on the ingot, sparks flying. Metal flattened and deformed, bending to his direction, and he paused for but a moment to fold the metal in on itself before beginning to hammer at it again.

Hammer. Fold. Hammer. Fold. Herman lost himself in the motions of his work, ignoring the heat of the forgefire and the cold outside, ignoring Kaneki's presence. There was only hammer, anvil, and metal.

He paused, sucking in a sudden breath, and smiled. Shigure's steel had been rebuilt, a thin, flexible spine of metal. Into the quenching bucket it went. Steam rose, and Herman considered Kaneki's contribution.

It would do, he decided.

He gathered his molds placed it in the heart of the forge, and stoked the flames once more. Temperatures hot enough to melt steel did nothing, but he persevered, and the fire roared higher, and higher still, until he smelled his own hair crisping in the heat and the substance that comprised Kaneki's gift finally surrendered to the flames, flowing into the molds he'd set. He pulled them free, ignoring the scorching heat, and cracked them open, revealing two thin sheets of metal.

Herman put his hammer to work once again, forging what would be the edges of the blade, each blow aimed along a single length, marrying the two pieces together. He checked the fire - burning lower, now - and nodded to himself.

The first quench of Kaneki's contribution sent another cloud of steam rolling through the forge, and the resulting V-shaped length placed in the forge right alongside the spine of steel. Fires roared once more, and Herman waited for an eternity of moments before retrieving both of them, placing them on the anvil once again.

There was no waiting between blows, this time, no steady rise and fall of the hammer. Herman struck with snakelike speed, a flurry of blows slamming into the sword-to-be, marrying steel to unknown alloy. One hundred and eight blows, and the last sent the blade leaping up off the anvil, flipping over before being caught by the descending hammer once again. Another hundred and eight, and again, and again, and again, an endless series of blows, until at last it lay before him, red heat fading from the black metal, smooth and deadly. But not quite finished.

One last blow of the hammer, and the blade-to-be spun through the air into his hand. It would have burned him, a month or two ago, but he was far stronger than that, and his master had taught him well the secrets of smithing.

Herman smiled, and drove the blade through Kaneki's heart, piercing iron-hard skin and pinning the ghoul to the beam like a bug.

Kaneki looked down at the blade, and sighed. "Damn it, I liked this shirt," he groused.

Herman yanked the blade free with a grunt, and shrugged by way of apology, before examining the sword. He'd gotten the proportions right. As for the edge...he picked up a spare set of tongs, and pressed the edge he'd formed from proper hammer work to it lightly.

The pieces of the tool fell to the ground with a clang, and Herman smiled.

It was ready.

* * *

Smoker heard the argument the moment he entered the hallway leading to the Rear Admiral's office, and recognized the voice as well.

" _-you have ANY IDEA what you're preventing us from achieving?! We could-"_

"You will not," Gripper said, cutting off Franz Josef's tirade. "My word on this is final, Doctor. Grigori Vinci is not to be allowed access to any details of the Emory situation."

" _TO HELL WITH YOUR-"_

"This island remains under World Government management, Doctor. Good day."

The door to Gripper's office slammed open, and a seething Franz Josef stalked out. The expression of utter fury on his face did not match the man's usually weaselly features in the slightest. Smoker watched the man go silently, before turning to the Rear Admiral's office and walking in without preamble.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked bluntly.

Gripper sighed. "Grigori is already sinking his hooks in, it seems. His latest presentation has given Doctor Josef...ideas."

"About a plague city."

"Yes. Doctor Josef is...quite frankly, a good man. And all he sees in Grigori's poisonous little gift is the potential to end the plague in Emory. He doesn't think to consider exactly what Grigori would do if he got _samples_."

Smoker nodded, slowly. "Poor bastard."

"Quite. Headquarters is already breathing down my neck about the Wolves, more trouble there," the grey-haired Rear Admiral growled. "Why did you want to speak with me, Commodore."

"I think I figured out what Grigori and his first mate want," Smoker said, without preamble.

"Explain."

"How much do you know about the Sevenfold Kingdom?" he asked.

"Never heard of it."

"Neither had I, and for good reason. It's a shithole, stuck between Kaido and Big Mom and barely able to pay the fees that let it remain part of the World Government. It's only the fact that it's got an offshoot of the Demon Tribe underground and untouchable that keeps it financially solvent. The Councillors that rule it are your typical pack of idiot nobles, except they're actually also fairly tough bastards, even by the standards of the New World. And the first mate wants their collective heads on a platter." He paused. "I'm pretty sure he intends to take the place over, with Grigori's help. And with a Warlord backing him, he could do it. Hell, Headquarters might assign additional support to his coup if it results in a buffer between two of the Emperors."

"And if Grigori makes himself _useful…_ "

"They're desperate," Smoker said bluntly. "Crocodile turned out to be scum, and Kuma was a monster even before they convinced him to be leashed. Two Warlords down, so quickly, they'll do just about anything to keep this one. And given how _little_ Grigori's clashed with Marines, I have to wonder if he planned this from the beginning."

"There was a clash in Hangman's Town, but that was the Butcher Bird's doing," Gripper noted. "And given reports from the survivors there, it seems more that he'd been coerced into it. Or, at least, that is what Grigori could claim."

"Yoshimura's dangerous," Smoker growled. "Hates the Marines, wants to see the Government burn, doesn't give a damn about law and order. And Grigori's the one holding his leash, being oh-so-reasonable and helpful in comparison. Stick, carrot. I'd be more pissed off at how simple it was if I didn't think Headquarters would go for it."

Gripper sat back. "Shit."

"Yeah." Smoker walked to the office's window, which overlooked the training yards. Down there, he could make out Tashigi. The girl had thrown herself into training with a fury from the moment Marine doctors ( _not_ Grigori) had cleared her to do so. He wasn't surprised - if he'd taken a loss as bad as hers, he'd be doing the same thing. Right now, she was pumping iron.

"It's almost a shame," Gripper said. "If he'd actually wanted to work with us from the start, we could've pulled ahead by quite a lot. Maybe finally put a lid on the Golden Age of Piracy."

"But no, Grigori had to be a pirate," Smoker growled. "Stupid, mad idiot that he was."

"Didn't Vegapunk break the law, before the Government brought him into the fold?" Gripper asked. Smoker turned on him.

"Don't start with that. Worst Vegapunk did was experiment," he said. "Not raise a black flag and take part in slaughter. And Vegapunk's _sane._ Grigori…"

"A rabid animal, by comparison, I _know._ I've met him, he makes my skin crawl. But do you really think our superiors will see much of a difference?" Gripper asked. "They kept Caesar Clown, a clear sociopath, on until he destroyed Punk Hazard out of spite. As long as Grigori gets results, he's untouchable. And despite everything else, he _has_ gotten results."

"The basics of his own research," Smoker said. "So what is he hiding?"

"Something like Yoshimura had to come from somewhere."

Smoker shook his head. "Not him. The other one, C, I know Grigori made him, but I did my digging on Yoshimura. He's...whatever he is, he's not something Grigori made."

"Grigori _Vinci_ , maybe," Gripper said over steepled fingers. "But his family is an old one, and has a long, much-censored history. Who's to say he didn't find something some distant ancestor made?"  
"Butcher wants his kingdom and his revenge, and while he's a bitter old thing, what he said...being _made_ doesn't make sense for him." Smoker shrugged. "Whatever he is...I have a feeling if I went looking for that, I'd not wake up one morning."

"That bad?"

"I pissed him off badly enough, I think something slipped out, and I don't like what it implied." He sighed. "When did I get mixed up in all this conspiracy bullshit?"

"Blame Arlen. I think there's something in the water." The Rear Admiral smiled thinly. "Thank you for your time, Commodore. I'll...think on this, before sending it up the chain. Maybe we can nip Grigori and Yoshimura's little games in the bud."

"Or HQ will decide to gift-wrap the Kingdom for the Butcher Bird in advance, to leash him and Grigori both," Smoker growled. "Thank you, Rear Admiral." He left the office, moving through the bland white corridors of Port Roybal Base.

Maybe he'd go join Tashigi, see if she was up to a spar. It'd take his mind off having to figure out what madmen and politicians were going to do.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

* * *

Tashigi set the dumbbells down with a sigh, and began to do cooldown stretches.

She was getting stronger, already. Quicker than people really should, maybe. She wasn't sure. She didn't want to bring it up with Smoker, he was already worried enough about Grigori without having to worry about her as well.

And, quite honestly, she was fairly certain Grigori was actually intending to be helpful. Terrifying, yes, that came with his scar-covered face and utter lack of restraint regarding...just about anything, but helpful. If nothing else, she could safely assume he was responsible for her sudden dividends from training and had done so entirely so he could show up every Government-affiliated researcher on the island.

"Oi, Tashigi!"

She almost tuned it out. She was long since used to the comments the less refined of the Marines tended to direct her way when she was training. She refused to be cowed by them...and honestly, she gave it three-to-one odds that her own people had marked whichever braggart was yelling at her this time around with the intent of settling matters in a back alley later. She smiled, just a little.

Her Marines might be crude, rude, and at times foolhardy, but they were hers, and they backed her more than anyone had since basic training and the complete clusterfuck _that_ had been.

" **Tashigi of the Navy.** "

She nearly stumbled out of stretch at the rumbling, snarling voice, and her head snapped up to glare at the offender.

Who, naturally, turned out to be the Butcher Bird. With the Bers- _Herman_ , standing next to him, making the much more dangerous pirate look tiny.

The Butcher Bird grinned at her. "Heya."

"Hello," Tashigi said, as politely as she could manage, as she straightened up. She walked over to the parallel bars, and grabbed her coat, securing it against the cold that had begun to bite the moment she stopped exercising. She turned back to the two pirates. "How did you get in here, and what do you want?"

"Well, my charming smile got me in easily enough," the Butcher Bird said, still grinning.

"Charming my ass," Herman growled. "That Marine at the gate wet himself."

"Semantics. As for why we're here, well...I'm mostly here to talk to your Commodore. Fluffy here's got his own business."

Tashigi pressed her lips together, and glanced at Herman. "Fluffy?"

Herman blushed. "He's being a dick about my Zoan form."

"Ah."

"Well, you've got balls, I'll give you that much," a familiar voice said, and Tashigi looked over her shoulder to see Commodore Smoker striding onto the training yard.

"Ah, _Smoker_ , there you are," the Butcher Bird purred. "Fancy a spar?"

Smoker stopped dead, looking the Butcher Bird over. "How good's your regeneration?" he finally asked.

"Why don't you come on and find out?" the Butcher Bird asked, drawing a trench knife from his belt.

"We should leave," Tashigi told Herman. The blacksmith nodded, and they both headed off the yard as the sounds of metal clashing on wood and angry shouting resonated behind them.

"What _is_ your business?" Tashigi asked as she sat on one of the benches that lined the courtyard.

Herman shifted uncomfortably. "I...was honestly under the impression you'd be more pissed off at me."

Tashigi breathed out, and closed her eyes. "I...acted poorly. No matter what you said, I should not have drawn my blade. And so the fault is mine, not yours, and I should be asking for forgiveness."

Herman huffed. "Fucking sword-fondlers. Mad, the lot of you." There wasn't any heat in his words, though, and his sole visible eye had no malice in it. He reached behind his back, and held out a cloth-wrapped package, long and thin. "Still. I'd be a poor smith indeed if I didn't hold to my words. I shattered two things, when I fought you, I think."

"First, my pride," Tashigi said flatly.

"And then your sword. Pride got rebuilt, though, didn't it?"

"A little dented, but still there," she confirmed, looking at the package. "So did you…"

"Shigure…" Herman paused, and then sighed. "Shigure was beyond repair. This. This is something new," he said, handing her the package - she grunted, it was heavier than it looked.

Cloth fell through her hands, and Tashigi ran her hand over the scabbard of the new sword. The sheath, the hilt, the ornate guard - all of them had the same metal fittings as Shigure had had, the flower petals of the tsuba and the round disks that lined the scabbard the same bronze metal. Even the shape of the sheath was identical, right down to the bumpy cloth wrappings along the upper third of it. But the colors were different. The cloth along the hilt was a dark red, almost black, the cloth wrappings along the sheath a bright scarlet...and the wood of the scabbard, which had been bright white, had been replaced by a black wood so dark it almost seemed unreal.

"I have absolutely no idea how the scabbard ended up like that," Herman said ruefully. "Honestly, I think what I used to quench it's to blame, somehow."

The new blade hissed as she drew it, and Tashigi barely held back a gasp as she saw the blade - _black_ , black as the scabbard, and the hamon that marked the division between cutting edge and flexible spine was filled with a serrated crimson pattern, curving like fangs along the length of the blade.

"This…" She paused, voice trembling. "How did you make this?"

"I am a smith, after all. A lot of hammering, a lot of fire, and some things that only smiths are taught."

"I know, but...this blade…" She stopped, took a breath. "Blades like this, they take _years_ to make, they need someone to put their life and soul into the work, or they need to be wielded with someone who can infuse their very will into the blade. What did you put into it, to forge it? What-"

She jumped as the Butcher Bird landed in front of her, flat on his back. "Oh, hi, couldn't help but overhear you, quick answer, we're pirates, pirates cheat," the man babbled, before his eyes widened comically as the tendril of smoke wrapped around his ankle abruptly tightened. "Oh dear," he got out, before he was yanked into the air and slammed into the other side of the courtyard.

"Well, can't say he doesn't deserve it," Herman said, clearly suppressing a laugh. "But, he's got a point. Other smiths could take years. Other smiths might dedicated a lifetime to making something. But I'm a _pirate_ smith, and why should I follow tradition?" He stopped. "So, Tashigi of the Navy. What do you think?"

"I think?" She paused, held the blade out in front of her, feeling the weight of it, the way the light shone off its impossibly keen edge. "I think," she said softly, "that there are now twenty-two Great Grade swords. I think that it's something beautiful. And I think...that it deserves a name, if it doesn't have one already."

"So name it," Herman said simply.

She paused. "Not yet," she said. "This is...something momentous. Not done lightly. I will need time." She sheathed the blade, feeling it click home softly, and stood, before bowing deeply to the blacksmith. "I thank you," she said formally, drawing on old memories of etiquette lessons and painful reminders (she'd hated them then, but now she needed them, oh the irony), "for this priceless gift. It is more than I can repay."

"It was meant for you from the start," Herman said. "And so no repayment is necessary. Cut well."

"It will."

"Awww, how cute, you two are getting along. See, Smokey, I told you that beating each other up is-"

 _Crack._

"You know," her commanding officer said wonderingly as the Butcher Bird sat down hard and tried to force his broken nose back into place. "You might actually be right. Using you as a punching bag is very refreshing."

"Fight me, bitch," the Butcher Bird growled.

"I was. You lost. Repeatedly."

The Butcher Bird grinned. "I like you," he said, and to Tashigi's surprise she couldn't find a trace of sarcasm in the man's tone. "Well, that settles things!" he continued, springing to his feet and dusting himself off. "You're coming to karaoke night, Smoker. I mean, hell, Vinci's already invited T-Bone, and I'm pretty sure Lauren's dragging along some Marine brat she's gotten attached to, so it's not like you're going to be the only whitecoat there. Oh, Herman, bring your girlfriend along too."

Herman audibly choked, and Tashigi glared at the man, considering whether or not using her new blade to cut steel would be as difficult as it had been with Shigure.

"Fine," her Commodore growled. "If it makes you stop acting like a hummingbird. How much caffeine do you drink?"

"Oh, that's all him," Herman snarled, sounding astonishingly like Smoker. "He's been absolutely fucking insufferable since he beat up the Captain."

"Why is he Captain, again?" Tashigi asked faintly.

"Well, picture Kaneki in charge," the blacksmith said.

"...The Grand Line would be on fire by now, wouldn't it?"

"Got it in one."


	76. From the Decks of the World 4

" _Do you hear the people sing?"_

It was, Diceros Keita reflected, almost intimidating how easy the Fae made things.

" _Singing the song of angry men?"_

One of Grigori's little shapeshifters - or what he thought was one, it was nigh on impossible to tell for certain, for obvious reasons - had come along. A dozen, across the entirety of the Hunt detachment, maybe, including two from his own crew who had a background in intelligence work and who he trusted implicity. Just twelve men.

" _It is the music of a people_

 _Who will not be slaves again!"_

Arranging the rebellion against Wapol had taken two hours.

" _When the beating of your heart_

 _Echoes the beating of the drums."_

Winning it had taken ten minutes, as Wolves led the charge into Wapol's stolen castle with Diceros himself at the head.

" _There is a life about to start_

 _When tomorrow comes!"_

Well, fifteen. Vespucci had caught some of Wapol's guards attempting to smuggle some of the treasures of the Shrouded Kingdom through a back alley, and lured them into a clever trap involving a cart full of beer kegs and an enraged bat colony.

He'd have to keep an eye on that one, clever little bastard that he was.

" _Will you join in our crusade?_

 _Who will be strong and stand with me?_

 _Somewhere beyond the barricade_

 _Is there a world you long to see?_

 _Then join in the fight_

 _That will give you the right to be free!"_

He tightened his grip on Wapol's neck, dragging the would-be usurper behind him as he walked out of the gates of the royal palace.

The cheers of the people - _his_ people - were nearly deafening. The sounds of the song faded away, replaced by a new call.

" _Mthunzi inkosi! Mthunzi inkosi!"_

A title. An old one, in an old tongue.

The Shadow King. Ruler of the Shrouded Kingdom.

Diceros Keita smiled, for one moment...and then shook his head. "I AM NO KING!"

Silence fell instantly, confusion on the faces of his people

"I am no king." Keita repeated. "I failed you once, my people. I fled, rather than stand and face death to preserve our traditions. And you suffered, for my failure."

With his other hand, he reached under his robes, and took out something he had carried on his person since that fateful day he had been forced to become a pirate.

It was a simple thing, really, an iron circlet, but it seemed to weigh more than anything he had ever held, as he set it down on the steps.

"So," he said. "I am no king. _This-_ " he added, shaking Wapol's unconscious form roughly - "-is no king. So I leave this kingdom to you, my people. Choose your own king...and enact your own justice." He threw Wapol down the steps, the fat man's bloodied form hitting the ground hard.

"Do as thou wilt," Diceros Keita said, echoing words that had not been true in the past, but would be true now.

The people made their choice.

" _Mthunzi inkosi! Ukufa kubambisi!"_

Shadow King. Death to the usurper.

* * *

The Grand Line was a treacherous ocean, infested with pirates, filled with weather more lethal than any in the world, and torn apart by conflict, more often than not.

However, on a certain wave-tossed, battered caravel, that was difficult to tell.

"Well, well, well," Nico Robin said, scanning the latest newspaper. "It looks like someone's moving up in the world."

"Why does that make me worry?" Nami groused. "Who's moving up?"

"Grigori 'Alley Doc' Vinci. He's a new Warlord of the Sea," Robin explained, setting down her copy of the World Economic Journal.

"Already? That was quick."

"Indeed. It would appear we will have to keep an eye out for any pirate crews flying a triskelion symbol, though - that is the flag of his organization, and they'll be hunting pirates, now. They've already taken part in taking over a country, deposing King Wapol in -"

"WAPOL?!" Chopper shouted. "He's a _king?!_ But Drum just got rid of him!"

"Well, not anymore," Robin said with a chuckle. "The people of his new kingdom wanted the old one back, and when he showed up, Wapol...well, there's pictures."

Nami glanced at the open newspaper, and grimaced. "He was a jerk, but he definitely didn't deserve...that," she said, looking green.

"No, that's an expose on a beef exporter's bad product," Robin explained. She picked the paper up again, and flipped to another section. "Here we go," she said, showing Nami the picture of Wapol tied, upside-down, to the mast of a ship that was sailing away from a shadowy kingdom. Judging by the way his face was swollen and the lumps protruding from his head, he'd been beaten pretty badly beforehand.

"Oh, well, he definitely deserved _that_ ," Chopper said. "Wait, does this mean we have to worry about fighting him? The Warlord, I mean."

"Well," Robin said, smothering a smile. "I think Zoro will, at least."

"What the hell do you mean, witch," the crew's swordsman growled from where he was pumping weights.

"Why, I mean this interview from one of his officers," Robin said, turning the paper around so the green-haired man could read the headline.

 _ALL SWORDSMEN ARE C****_

"He's a dead man," Zoro growled. "Other witch, where the hell are these people?"

"Wrong end of the Grand Line, Zoro," Nami deadpanned.

"Some of these people look scary…" Usopp muttered, glancing at the photographs. "Captain, please don't make us go fight these people…"

"Shishishishishi!" Luffy got out of his hammock with his trademark grin still present. "Nah," he said. "I've got a good feeling about them. Maybe we can meet up with some of their crew!"

Robin glanced at one of the photos of the Butcher Bird, a huge grin on his face as he was caught mid-slaughter of a Sea King. She found herself wondering _what_ he was. A Devil Fruit user? Some kind of fishman? "Maybe," she said.

"So I guess Luffy is gonna punch another Warlord in the face before the year's out…" Nami groaned. "What happened to my life?"

"Nah," Luffy said sunnily, as he hopped up onto the Merry's figurehead. "First we're gonna get the Merry fixed up! Then I bet we'll run into someone who's met these guys!"

"We're doomed…" Usopp moaned.

* * *

Cawl Prior was, as far as such an emotion could be quantified, happy with its assignment.

This vessel was far more representative of most of the glories of the Machine's offerings, after all. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince Prior's fellows that it, not they, had been more deserving of being stationed aboard it. And by persuasion, it meant threats involving its implanted welding torches and metal shearers.

Other Cogs would have to make do with starting at the bottom, aboard vessels of _wood_ of all things, and have to improve from there. Cawl Prior had an entire ship to study and learn from, a metal-skinned beauty that, thanks to the offerings of the Machine, sailed under the seas rather than over them. Improvement would come soon, small things that would make the _Polar Tang_ truly _sing_ , but that was for the future, and for now Cawl Prior learned. It was assisted in this task by the baseline-organic known as Shachi, who served as general repairman. He seemed excited by his tasks - Cawl Prior registered heightened metabolic activity whenever it joined Shachi on a repair task, heightened still further when Prior utilized his gear-arms to perform such tasks more efficiently. Perhaps he would join the Cogs?

That was a decision for the Captain, though. The Maker had been particularly clear that nobody was to be Augmented in _any_ fashion without the consent of the Hunt's commanders. This particular Captain was not part of the Hunt, but the decision, by consensus of the Cogs, still stood. And despite the small crew of the Polar Tang and the presence of a Captain capable of rapid Augmenting, eight of the twenty remained baseline (excluding the Mink and the Captain himself, as well as the tiny baseline-organic that accompanied them). It was...inefficient, but orders were orders.

"Hey, tin man? You awake?"

Cawl Prior ticked furiously, gears restarting as it woke itself fully and straightened from its slightly slumped position in the corner of the _Polar Tang's_ barracks, where it spent all three of it's non-waking hours. Its gear-arms extended sluggishly, and half of its vision turned bronze-hued before resuming normal function.

In response to the question extended by one of the Wolf-organics, it nodded.

Proper communication was difficult with most organics. Most could not comprehend the Song. Three, the Cogs had found thus far: The Maker, The Hierophant, and The Artificer. All on board the Maker's vessel, and sadly out of contact.

The Cogs as a whole were nothing if not adaptable, though. Orders had been given, and the half of them stationed across the Hunt had manufactured the necessary devices.

+I++A+M++A+W+A+K+E, the ticker-tape dispenser measured out, completing its processing with a triumphant ding.

"Uh...great. Captain wants to see you."

Cawl Prior flashed acknowledgment patterns from its three artificial eyes (all mounted on the right), and began to move. This was a significantly more involved process than it would have been two weeks ago. Cawl Prior had arrived on board with two crates full of machinery and parts, and put them to use augmenting the frail fleshy pieces that had been its legs into something derived from centipedal organics. Twenty-four jointed, pincer-tipped legs sent Cawl Prior moving into the hallway, all of them moving in sync smoothly thanks to the clockwork cogitators embedded in the length of segmented bronze and copper that made up the last two meters of its body.

It moved down the passageways of the _Polar Tang_ at a speed equivalent to a baseline-organic sprint, at times upside-down as it moved around crewmen who occupied the passageway. In short order, Cawl Prior found itself on the bridge. The only others there were the Captain, the Mink navigator, and the tiny baseline-organic, who was staring at Cawl Prior as if it could induce ocular disintegration.

Cawl Prior considered methods for dealing with tiny baseline-organics, and nodded as it came to a decision.

The speaker implanted into its left pectoral began to play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.

The tiny baseline-organic's glaring intensified, as did that of the Captain, and Cawl Prior ceased playback.

"Alright," the Captain said with a sigh. "Prior, right?"

Cawl Prior flashed acknowledgment lights.

"I'm going to assume that's a yes. Right. You can talk to...all the others, yes? Without using a Transponder Snail?"

Cawl Prior considered whether engaging combat protocols was the correct response. It had not noticed anything…

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that," the Mink said. "I'm really good at hiding. Devil Fruit."

Ah. That would explain it. Well. It had been found out.

+W+H+A+T++A+R+E++Y+O+U++P+L+A+N+N+I+N+G+?+, the ticker-tape machine processed.

The Captain steepled his fingers. "I want to talk to Vinci. Can you arrange that?"

+O+N+E++M+O+M+E+N+T+

Cawl Prior accessed the Song with no small amount of trepidation, fearing retribution for its failings.

Instead, as it downcycled its mental state into the shared space between every one of the Cogs, it found only amusement.

 _We have known_ , the Song whispered in its ears. _And anticipated. Now, examine this._

Blueprints flitted in front of Cawl Prior's perception, sacred pieces of the Machine, ancient principles...and it understood. It always understood.

It required slight adjustment to the systems replacing its left arm, new connections to the speaker implant, and numerous other alterations to Cawl Prior's own form, but it was accomplished. According to Prior's internal clock, five minutes had passed.

A full-sized, albeit transparent, image of the Maker burst into existence.

" _Is this thing on?"_ he asked. " _Oh, there you are. Was wondering if you'd want to be in contact."_

"Grigori."

" _Trafalgar. Look, I can understand not wanting to be heard, I'm fairly sure the World Government has enough black Transponder snails snooping on me to cover a small country, but if that's the extent of the message..."_

"For fuck's sake," the Captain said, face impassive. "Let me speak."

" _Fine, go ahead, grumpy bastard."_

"You understand why I left?"

" _Personally? You actually have some common sense and some residual pride, unlike the other members of the Hunt. Pragmatically? You've got something running long-term, and the Hunt would fuck with that."_

"...The second one. I left because my own long-term plans involve being a Warlord, at least for a while."

" _And since I practically declared I was going to betray the World Government, if you happened to be a subordinate at the time, it would make them more suspicious of you trying the same thing."_

"I was expecting you to be angrier."

" _Nah. Either you actually have a spine, or it's simple rationality that made you do what you did. Or both. Either way, not something to be upset about."_ The Maker grinned. " _But I guess this isn't the only reason for this call?"_

"It isn't. I...well, pride or not, I'm not stupid enough to think I can take... _ **him**_ on, without allies. And thanks to you, I've got a kid to look after, too, and I don't want to leave him without parents."

" _So, when your own plans are ready…"_

"An alliance. It'll take years."

" _I have years, my dear Trafalgar. An eternity of them, if I'm careful."_

"Hell might freeze over, first."

" _Dahahaha...true. Well, how about this. If I die...the command of the Hunt will fall to you, Trafalgar Law."_

The Captain froze. "I…"

" _Oh, you seem to be under the impression I_ wanted _them. I wanted the opposite, Trafalgar Law. I wanted them to call me to task, rein in my worst tendencies. I deserved it. Instead, they knelt. Except for you. You had pride. So if I leave...you're the only one worthy, to take them in."_

"I...thank you."

" _Law."_ The Maker paused, flickers of emotions crossing his face. " _Be careful. Be very, very careful."_

"I will," Law said shortly. "You should do the same."

* * *

Gotz Helsing couldn't help but smile.

Part of it was the fact that, for once, not everything hurt. Oh, the old scars did - the iron socket that marked the end of his left arm at the elbow, most of all - but everything else was fine and dandy, and considering his career choice, that was a rarity. A day to celebrate with a pipe full of good tobacco, strong drink, and whoever was willing for a good lay.

The song, obviously.

There was a bigger part to it, obviously.

Helsing grunted as he sat back in his chair, and ran his flesh hand through his hair. There was more grey and white in it by the day, where it wasn't outright missing thanks to the scars on his scalp, but at least he wasn't losing more of it. His craggy face creased into a smile as he set down the day's newspaper.

 _INTERVIEW WITH A (REFORMED) MANEATER,_ the headline proclaimed, the main picture showing a very familiar face indeed.

"Moving on in the world, just like you said, old friend," Helsing said softly.

 _There had been four of them._

 _Pirate captains, each worth over fifty million in bounties, each of them great warriors and leaders of men._

 _The fact that an old man had knocked them out, taken them from their crews, and brought them here (wherever this jungle was), without even the slightest bit of effort, scared the hell out of everyone, enough that the four had stayed within their little forest clearing. They'd been left their weapons and equipment, but all of them knew that some forests had monsters in them._

 _What made it weirder still was when the same old man showed up, one eye shining and a sheathed sword in his hands._

" _Ah, hell, we're fucked," one of the captains muttered. Two others growled, hands going to, respectively, a sword hilt and an axe haft._

 _Gotz just leaned back against a tree, and puffed at his pipe. "If he wanted us dead, we'd be dead," he called. "What do you want, old man? What's the purpose of bringing us here?"_

 _The old man smiled, long beard swaying in the slight breeze. "It is quite simple. You are...practice."_

 _Something stepped out of the old man's shadow. A young man, clad in jeans, t-shirt, and a long red coat, with close-cropped brown hair. His face was gaunt, belying his muscular frame. And his eyes...red. Black sclerae._

 _Gotz put a hand on the hilt of his sabre._

" _Child," the old man said. "No tails for the weakest three. This is a test of your learning in unarmed combat. The last...do as you will."_

" _I understand," the creature said calmly. It slipped out of its coat, and regarded each of the four in turn._

" _Begin," the old man said._

 _Gotz ran like hell._

Helsing was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of screaming coming from outside the pub.

He sighed, and stood, plunking down a few bills to pay for his drink and the paper, which he tucked into his dark green peacoat.

Yup. Bandits. Twelve of them, one busy stripping a corpse of everything of value while the others menaced the remaining townspeople.

"What the fuck you lookin' at?" one particularly ugly bandit growled.

Helsing smiled pleasantly, and then shot the man in the head.

 _As he ran, he risked a glance behind him._

 _The two captains who'd been itching for a fight had decided, foolishly, to give the creature one. Axe and sword lashed out, and shattered on the creature's skin._

 _The creature moved like wind, and one captain's scream started as a swift kick turned his kneecap to pulp, and then ended as a vicious backhand removed the man's lower jaw. The other man fell just as quickly, and Gotz turned his attention to running_ faster. _As he did, he ran through what he knew. This was no jungle beast or rampaging monster, this was something else entirely. He had a small arsenal of explosives, knives, flash-bangs, and a dozen other tricks of the trade, but something with a hide like the creature's wouldn't be much more than inconvenienced by that, and his sabre might as well have been dead weight for all the use it would be...unless it was like a Nemean, and he could get at it through the mouth or eyes._

 _Another warbling scream._

 _So that meant that he was alone._

 _And whatever 'tails' meant, he was -_

 _Gotz dodged to the right, long-honed instincts kicking in, and bit back a scream as_ something _sliced through flesh and bone just past his left elbow, removing his forearm neat as you pleased. He rolled, sabre springing to hand, and parried a half-dozen streaks of red that lanced out of the forest around him, blade ringing with the weight of the blows._

 _The 'child' dropped out of the treetops. Its arms were red to the elbow, its mouth streaked with blood. Maneater, then, and part of Gotz wanted to laugh. Of course he'd die to a monster that didn't look like one until it was too late to do anything._

 _His knees gave way, and he sat down hard, back against a tree trunk. Fuck, he was losing blood fast._

 _The six tails retracted into the creature's back with an audible slurping sound, and it cocked its head. "You were better than the others, at least," it said._

" _Go fuck yourself," Gotz growled, pulling a length of twine from his satchel and fashioning a tourniquet in moments. The blood stopped flowing quickly._

 _The 'child' drew closer. Gotz glared at him. "Well, go on," he said. "Finish the job! Isn't that what you want?"_

" _It's what's necessary," the creature replied. It crouched in front of him. "I don't have a choice in what I am. Or in what I have to do."_

 _Gotz laughed. "Why, then? Why...all this?"_

" _I need to eat. And I need to become stronger. The old man offers both. Bargain was made and struck."_

 _Gotz sighed, leaning back against the tree. "Fine, then. What's keeping you?"_

" _No screaming? No hysteria?"_

 _Gotz smiled at the brat. It was not a nice smile. "Nah. Ain't much point in it, is there? I've spent my life hunting down monsters, figures there'd be a point where something took me down. Hell, you're a strong bastard."_

" _A monster hunter, huh?" The brat sat down. "Seems we're two of the same."_

" _Coulda fooled me."_

" _Well, my career isn't properly started. Still, pirate captains are bad enough to qualify, aren't they?"_

" _Heh, if only my kid could see me now…" Gotz muttered._

" _Your kid?"_

" _Eh, brat kept his mother's name, but he's still mine. Left him enough to take on the family trade, before I had to leave. Didn't have much choice in being a pirate, either, not after that whole mess with the Marines…" Gotz paused. "Don't have the slightest idea why I'm telling you all this. Must be the blood loss."_

 _The brat chuckled. "Maybe. But I think I've eaten enough for the day. And honestly...heh, doesn't matter." A tail extended. "Still getting the hang of this trick," the brat muttered. "Don't know if I can use it in a fight…" The tail began to shimmer with heat, glowing brightly._

" _Hold still," the creature said, as the tail approached the stump of Gotz's arm. "This is gonna hurt."_

 _It did. Immensely._

Gotz whistled off-key as he strolled away from the scene of carnage that, two minutes ago, had been a bandit gang. The socket that held his prosthetic ached in that semi-pleasant way it always did after he'd used it to take down a local scumbag, and now he had what he'd come to this flyspeck for.

"Please, please don't kill me," the bandit leader whined as Gotz dragged him along by the scruff of his neck.

"Not yet, little shit," Gotz said conversationally as he tossed the man onto the ground and applied his boot to the back of the man's neck. "First, you're going to answer a couple questions for me. Mostly about... _Wallachia._ "

The bandit started to spill everything he knew.

" _Isn't the old guy going to be pretty mad at you?" Gotz grunted, as the brat led him through the jungle._

 _The brat shrugged. "That depends. You know what'll happen if you try to tell people about me?"_

" _Beyond not being believed for a second, one of you will hunt my ass down?"_

" _Probably."_

" _So if I don't…"_

" _He's probably not going to care." The brat shrugged. "And besides. The world'll hear of me, sooner or later, once I move on up in it. Nobody'll care what you say, then."_

 _Despite himself, Gotz chuckled. "True. Bit hard to hide if the entire world's taken notice." He paused. "This is how you keep going, isn't it?"_

" _Pardon?"_

" _Letting someone go. That's why you're doing this."_

 _The brat huffed. "Maybe. Maybe your little story tugs at my heartstrings, and since I didn't smell a word of a lie on you I decided to believe it. Maybe it's something I can do to keep from going mad, to give myself something I can say to prove that I'm not totally evil. Or maybe, just maybe, I don't give a shit, and if I don't need to kill you, why should I waste the effort?"_

" _You're putting in effort, escorting me," Gotz said._

" _That's true enough."_

 _There was a bit of silence as they exited the jungle, reaching a small cove. A few boats were grounded there. "Well, take your pick," the brat said. "Any one of them'll reach the next island, like as not, even with only one arm."_

" _You have my thanks," Gotz grunted. He trudged down the sand, then stopped. "What the hell's your name, brat?"_

" _Yoshimura Kaneki. I know yours, Gotz 'Beast Slayer' Helsing...so in trade...what is the name of your son?"_

 _Gotz looked at the creature. "Bargain made, and bargain struck, huh? Akira Horus. That's the brat." He stepped into a sailboat. "Oh, and Kaneki?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _No hard feelings, but I'm going to try my best to kill you, next we meet."_

 _The creature laughed._

" _You're very welcome to try, Gotz. Who knows? I'll probably welcome it."_

 _Gotz got the boat free with only minor difficulty._

 _He had places to be._

 _And he wanted to see his son._


	77. Chapter 97

Viktor contained himself as the entire bar went through _yet another_ chorus of the shanty, led by the emaciated yokel on stage.

" _Come on home, come on home, come on brothers in blood,_

 _Come wharf rats and ragged misfit crews._

 _Come on home, come on home, come on sisters in blood,_

 _Come all ye with nothing to lose!"_

Mercifully, the song ended there, but unmercifully, it was replaced with cheering and shouting from the assembled hundred and fifty Nightmare crewmen. Who could _really_ yell, most of them being eight-foot-tall walls of muscle and stupidity.

Viktor ground his teeth.

This was obviously Vinci's revenge. The brute had practically dragged him out here, after all, then dragged T-Bone off somewhere, leaving him alone in this ill-maintained corner of an equally ill-maintained tavern. It was petty, it was obvious, and it was _just_ shy of something he could enact retribution for - perfect for him.

"Well, you look like someone made you eat a lemon," a voice said, and Viktor glanced up to see the singer from earlier, accompanied by the hulking form of the Nightmare blacksmith. Both of them took seats without so much as asking.

The emaciated-looking man grinned. "What's on your mind, friend?"

"I am not," Viktor said flatly, "your friend."

"Just an expression," the blacksmith said. "Still. You seem pretty pissed off." He plunked down a tankard of beer, shoved it towards Viktor. "Talk."

Viktor glared at him. "I don't take orders from pirates."

"Got something against us, then?" the singer asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Got something - _what do you think?_ That I _want_ to be here, surrounded by a bunch of idiotic buccaneers, all of them screaming the same hackneyed songs? I am a _scientist_ , I don't belong here."

The singer laughed. "Oh, so you think you're better than us. Well, the Captain did say you were a smug little prick." He bared his teeth in a smile. "He also said he pitied you."

" _I am not an object of your pity,"_ Viktor growled.

"Sure you are. I mean, hell, who even knows who you are?"

Viktor glared at the man. "I have colleagues. I'm well-respected. I have _status_ , I have papers to my name and discoveries that -"

"Mean nothing," the blacksmith said. "Come off it. How many, outside the World Government, will ever hear about anything you do?"

"I don't do it for fame. Unlike you."

The blacksmith smiled. "Yeah, Captain was right about you. Otherwise, you'd know better than to try to lie to a Zoan."

Viktor's hands curled into fists. "You know nothing."

"Really?" the singer questioned. "I think I know plenty. Been in your place, before," he added, almost conversationally.

"Oh, _really_ ," Viktor snarled.

"Really," the emaciated man. "Specifically, being alone."

"I'm not alone."

"You have no friends," the man said, and the words cut like only truth could. "Colleagues, maybe, people you'll tolerate...but not friends. Family's a distant memory if you had it at all, too. It's just been you, clawing your way to your current position...but you'll always serve someone else, won't you? There'll always be someone to tell you what to do, even if you hate it." The emaciated man smiled. "Same boat, for a while. Until I ran into your cousin and his merry band of chucklefucks."

"I feel like I should be offended by that," the blacksmith remarked.

"Then go console yourself with that girlfriend of yours. You're up after Jack and Vinci, anyway."

"She's not my girlfriend, Vodka."

"My name's Gin, you fuckwit."

"So we're on the same page, then." The blacksmith stood, and walked away. The emaciated man sighed.

"Pain in the ass," he muttered. "Still, he's decent company." He turned back to Viktor. "Anyway...am I in the right ballpark?"

Viktor forced his fingers to unclench. "No."

The emaciated man smiled. "Liar. Don't need a nose to tell that." He paused. "Well, I'm not going to make much progress piercing your shell of arrogance. But let me tell you one thing. Most famous people in the world are pirates. Not because they're good people - hell, most of them are assholes. But because, instead of bending the knee...they went and made something for themselves. Hell, even their subordinates are known around the world. It's not the piracy that made them that way...it's because every single one of them had something they wanted to achieve, and the friends and the comrades to help them do it. Think on that, while you're drinking alone."

The thin man stood, and walked away, leaving Viktor alone.

On the stage, a massively built man with an equally massive beard took hold of the microphone. After a moment, he began to speak, words coming out rapid-fire.

" _It's the last time that I ask why_

 _I'm overlooked and I'm passed by_

 _You can't grasp my shit, that's fine_

 _Can't see the truth through glass eyes_

 _You're half-blind; in fact, I'm_

 _On my way to the back nine_

 _I'm coming out swinging, a man on a mission_

 _And breaking new ground like a land mine_

 _Can't stop my ambitions, can't stop my commitment_

 _My very existence is winning the game_

 _Every minute I'm given I'm thinking_

 _Of living it different, you live it the same_

 _A vivid display, what are you thinking?_

 _I'm building a vision, you're digging a grave_

 _I'm in a position to have an opinion_

 _Don't need your permission to give it away_

 _Give it a rest, this is the end_

 _You cannot prevent what you're fighting against_

 _We live in this shit, we didn't pretend_

 _We're the percentage you'll never forget_

 _Look at the math, look at what's left_

 _You can't represent what you couldn't accept_

 _Since the beginning, I knew you were ignorant_

 _That is the difference you can't understand_

 _What would you do with nothing to lose_

 _Nothing to live for but something to prove?_

 _You don't have a clue, you got it confused_

 _You couldn't walk 20 steps in our shoes_

 _Every minute you're ducking from view_

 _Can't run from the truth that's coming for you_

 _We are the many and you are the few…"_

" _We are the future!"_ came the shout from the assembled crew, as they joined in the chorus.

" _We are the future_

 _We're the future and we have just begun_

 _We are the truth, the chosen ones_

 _We are the new, the past is gone_

 _We are the future and we have just begun_

 _We are the future…"_

Viktor threw back the tankard of ale.

"The future, huh?" he muttered to himself, before standing.

He had work to do. And it wasn't something he could do with a government minder.

* * *

Smoker had to (reluctantly, very reluctantly) admit one thing.

Grigori Vinci, for all that he was an unstable genius with enough issues to fill a psych ward, was a very good singer.

" _Maybe I'm foolish_

 _Maybe I'm blind_

 _Thinking I can see through this_

 _And see what's behind_

 _Got no way to prove it_

 _So maybe I'm lyin'..._

 _But I'm only human after all_

 _I'm only human after all_

 _Don't put your blame on me_

 _Don't put your blame on me…"_

Good as that singing was, it wasn't enough to distract him from the other occupants of his table.

On one side, the Butcher Bird, and that odd blue-haired man that Smoker was nearly certain was one of Grigori's experiments. The latter of the two was leaning on the smaller man's shoulder, reading from one of the little booklets filled with song lyrics to choose from. The Butcher Bird himself seemed almost oblivious to the casual contact, instead reading one of his own booklets. The ghoul's face was wreathed in smoke from his pipe, and he spoke near-inaudibly with Six from time to time.

" _Take a look in the mirror, and what do you see?_

 _Do you see it clearer, or are you deceived?_

 _In what you believe..._

 _Cos I'm only human after all, you're only human after all_

 _Don't put the blame on me_

 _Don't put your blame on me_

 _Some people got the real problems_

 _Some people out of luck_

 _Some people think I can solve them_

 _Lord heavens above_

 _I'm only human after all, I'm only human after all_

 _Don't put the blame on me_

 _Don't put the blame on me…"_

On the other side, Bosque Herman and Tashigi sat, the two of them arguing just quietly enough to not justify Smoker intervening. He let them. The Berserker Hound clearly didn't deserve his moniker, and...despite everything, he could almost respect the man. The man had made his amends with Tashigi, it'd be just plain stupid to hold a grudge after that...not to say Smoker wouldn't keep an eye on both of them for a while still - Bosque for treachery, Tashigi to make sure she didn't get starry-eyed over a blade and forget everything else the man had done.

" _Don't ask my opinion, don't ask me to lie_

 _Then beg for forgiveness for making you cry, making you cry_

 _Cos I'm only human after all, I'm only human after all_

 _Don't put your blame on me, don't put the blame on me_

 _Some people got the real problems_

 _Some people out of luck_

 _Some people think I can solve them_

 _Lord heavens above_

 _I'm only human after all, I'm only human after all_

 _Don't put the blame on me_

 _Don't put the blame on me_

 _I'm only human, I make mistakes_

 _I'm only human, that's all it takes, to put the blame on me_

 _Don't put your blame on me_

 _Cuz I'm no prophet or messiah_

 _Should go looking somewhere higher..._

 _I'm only human after all, I'm only human after all..._

 _Don't put the blame on me, don't put the blame on me_

 _I'm only human, I do what I can_

 _I'm just a man, I do what I can_

 _Don't put the blame on me_

 _Don't put your blame on me..."_

Last, and most tolerable, was T-Bone. The skeletal captain looked nearly as confused as Smoker felt, and Smoker honestly couldn't blame him. Dealing with Grigori Vinci was an...experience, and the two seemed to have some kind of history that made T-Bone uncomfortable and Vinci...almost manic. Smoker gave the man a look. "You think he's gonna insist we sing?"

"Singing is not precisely one of my talents," the captain said. "I would hope not."

"Crap, is he done?" Herman muttered. "Right, this one," he said, pointing to one page of the booklet.

"This works better," Tashigi protested, holding up another page.

"Fine, fine, sure," Herman growled, standing. "Let's go get this over with."

"Don't fuck up!" the Butcher Bird called as the two left. Herman flipped him off.

Vinci walked up to their table as the duo left, grinning per usual. "Well, color me surprised. Everyone's getting along, and nobody's gotten maimed. It's almost pedestrian. Would have expected Kaneki to start a morality debate by now."

"In front of everybody? I have _some_ class, Captain," the Butcher Bird said. "Besides…" His eyes flicked to Smoker for a moment. "Hell, I've said enough," the man said calmly. "Wasn't in a great place when I did, but it's still said and done, and I meant all of it." He paused as Vinci took a seat. "Hope I don't have to sing, to be honest," he said. "Not exactly a performer."

Smoker nearly laughed. The Butcher Bird was a shameless drama queen, through and through. What other kind of person made a point of killing an entire Sea King in front of the entirety of the horrified shipwrights of Port Roybal? Last he'd heard, a dozen Marines who'd seen the drawn-out act were in therapy.

Vinci sat down next to him, and Smoker resisted the urge to lean away. Instead, he leaned in.

"What's his story?" he asked bluntly, nodding at Six.

He'd figured out by now that the direct approach was best with Vinci. The man had the subtlety of a bulldozer and expected everyone to have the same.

"Six?"

"Yeah. He one of your…"

"Augments? No, no. For one, Devil Fruit abilities...well, eating one overwrites portions of genetic code, and I quite frankly don't want to find out how that interacts with Augments."

Smoker decided to nod and pretend he knew what the hell Vinci was babbling about. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw T-Bone trying to take notes stealthily, while failing miserably at it.

"Second, his scars...well, have you heard of the Necromonger Pirates?"

"Rumors," Smoker said. "Supposed to roam the seas, crewed by the dead. Leave no survivors. Always figured it was some fuck with a Devil Fruit who went mad."

"Well, close enough." Vinci's fingers drummed on the table. "Take me, remove any pretensions at sanity or morality, as well as all the people on my crew who keep me on an even keel, and then give that person the ability to trap souls in dead bodies. You'd get the captain of the Necromongers. Six was...half prisoner, half experiment, half slave. When the Necromongers attacked us, and we obliterated them, he was alive. The vivisection scars, and those on his back...that's their work." The man steepled his fingers, voice soft. "I've been trying to help him, since. Fixed him up as best I could physically, dealing with some things that... _creature_...did to him that would've killed him sooner or later. Hell, improved on them. Mentally, though...he's been through a lot. Kaneki helps. I think the man's natural possessiveness has given Six something to hold on to. Psychology isn't my best field, for all the reading I've done." Vinci sighed, suddenly looking far, far older than his age of twenty-four. "Still. He's...not broken, not damaged, but...scarred, I think, is the right word. But his actions are his own, and he's getting better by the day." A tired smile twitched at the corners of the man's mouth. "That enough to answer?"

"Suppose it is," Smoker allowed. "And Kaneki's?"

"Well, you got the revenge spiel, I suppose. After his master died, I think his plan was to lay low, do some bounty hunting as practice, and work his way up in the world. But then Gramps decided to send me a letter, and I was in deep shit when he got to me. He already didn't like the Marines, so he snatched me right out of the noose. Things...well, escalated. I wanted my tools back, he went along with it, and along the way…"

"So the great South Blue prison break...started because your grandfather tried to mail you a letter?" Smoker said incredulously.

"And because apparently asking random pirates and privateers how to join their crew was enough to warrant the death penalty, but yeah, you're along the right track, dahahaha…"

"What a weird damn world…" Smoker muttered, glancing at the stage as Herman and Tashigi climbed up.

Tashigi turned to the pirate, grinning sharply.

" _Anything you can do, I can do better,"_ she stated.

The Berserker Hound laughed, accompanied by a sudden burst of music. Oh, for God's sake…

" _I can do anything better than you,"_ Tashigi continued.

" _No you can't,"_ the Hound retorted.

" _Yes I can."_

" _No you can't."_

" _Yes I can."_

" _No you can't."_

" _Yes I can, yes I can, yes I cannnn…."_

" _An_ _ything you can be, I can be greater,"_ the Hound sang defiantly. " _Sooner or later I'm greater than you."_

Smoker buried his face in his hands as the song continued, the two trading boasts and insults - and altering the lyrics along the way. "Of course they did," he groaned. "I'm going to have to make sure they don't try to kill each other on a daily basis, aren't I?"

"Coordinate with Jack, that's usually his headache," Vinci said gently, before wincing as a high-pitched note filled the air.

" _How_ do _you sing that high?"_

" _I'm a_ girl!"

"On the other hand," the Warlord noted, "it would probably involve less singing if they were engaged in duels for most of the day. Who the hell's up next?"

"Me," Six said softly. "But…" He paused. "I am...uncertain. I have not practiced singing extensively."

"That's kinda the point, Six," the Butcher Bird said, uncharacteristically gently. "Getting up on stage and making a fool of yourself."

"I see." The young man paused. "Would you...help?" he asked.

"Got anything in mind?" the Butcher Bird asked.

"I think...this one."

The Butcher Bird cocked his head. "Seems kinda...schmaltzy."

"There are not many options for duets. The Gunner has already claimed one and informed me not to try to take it, the Blacksmith and the Struggler are performing another, and the rest contain numerous references." Another pause. "To fucking."

Smoker turned his head to smoke just in time to avoid the spray of hot coffee from where the Butcher Bird was seated. The ghoul coughed heavily, and Six thumped him on the back. "Well," the man gasped. "If that's the only option...give me a couple minutes to get ready?"

Six nodded, and the two stood to leave...which left Smoker and T-Bone alone with Vinci.

The vicious way the Warlord smiled did not inspire confidence. "So, are the two men of law and order going to give us a stirring duet as well?"

"Given what your cook said about the song selection, I'm afraid we'll have to decline," T-Bone said stiffly.

"Ah, well, was worth a shot." Vinci leaned back in his chair. "Still, poor form to leave us all in the lurch."

"It's a damn song, Warlord, and we don't take orders from you," Smoker growled.

Vinci chuckled. "Fine, do what you want," he said, leaning forward again. "It's no skin off my nose. Just thought you might enjoy it."

"Really, now," Smoker said dubiously.

"Well, to be entirely fair, I think Kaneki invited you because he likes a good debate partner and you're the first person who's opposed him that he can't beat up to make a point," Vinci said. "Now, as for you, _Captain_ T-Bone...oh, we _do_ need to talk. Commodore, would you make yourself scarce? This is something rather private."

Smoker narrowed his eyes, but T-Bone gave him a look, and nodded. "It's all right, Commodore," the skeletal man said. "This sort of conversation is long overdue, and...quite frankly, I worry about what would happen if Headquarters knew you were part of it."

Well, that was enough for him. Smoker nodded, and made himself scarce, finding a corner of the bar to settle in and watch the stage from, just as the two came out.

The Butcher Bird...had cut his hair. Oddly, too. Short on the sides, the remaining shock lancing forward, just a little. He'd found round little sunglasses of some sort, too.

An odd, music-box-like tune began to play, and the Butcher Bird...smiled.

" _Look at how they crawl around,"_ he began, in a voice that _oozed_ contempt to a degree that could only come from the most heartfelt confession. " _Upon the ground, like lit-tle ants…"_

" _Yes but how they fascinate,"_ Six replied, " _confusing fate, for what is merely chance…"_

" _Isn't it a laugh?"_

" _Isn't it a shame?"_ Six retorted, looking as serene as a monk.

" _Thinking there is someone in heaven to blame?"_ the ghoul spat.

" _Yes, but even while blaming fate for the lives that they lead,_

 _They hope for the lives that they need…"_

" _Living every day! Till the day they die! Never getting answers,"_ the Butcher Bird snarled.

" _But still_ asking why," Six sang, cutting him off. " _Going through the motions as if there will be a reward…"_

" _While we stay eternally bored…"_ the ghoul smugly sang, before the two faced each other.

" _They're only human,_

 _They don't see_

 _Who they are is who they'll always be_

 _Only human_

 _After all…"_

" _So they push and they shove,"_ the ghoul called.

" _With this thing they call love,"_ Six replied.

" _Till they falllllllllll…."_

" _Isn't it a farce?"_ Kaneki growled, turning away and gesturing offstage.

" _Isn't it a waste?"_ Six lamented.

" _Struggling to face what can never be faced…"_

" _Yes, but maybe death can release something more than we've shared…"_ Six began.

Kaneki rolled his eyes. " _I really don't know and don't care."_

" _They're only human,"_ the two chorused.

"

 _Standing still_

 _Doomed to live pushing boulders uphill_

 _Only human, after all…"_

" _So they give and they take,"_ Kaneki sang contemptuously.

" _Hoping someone will help break their fall,"_ Six cautioned.

Kaneki turned to face him, wings springing from his back and red light spilling from past the lenses of his glasses.

" _They will pray, curse, live,_ die,

 _Never knowing their truth_ _ **is another man's lie!"**_

Six's hand touched the snarling ghoul's chin, and the Butcher Bird quieted instantly.

" _Eat, sleep, love, hate,"_ the taller man crooned. " _Like a leaf blowing in the wind…"_

" _Watch them all vacillate!"_ the Butcher Bird cried.

" _They're only human,"_ the two sang.

" _They can't see_

 _All the years they could give you and me_

 _Only human, after all_

 _So they give and we take_

 _Till their silly hearts break!"_

" _Looking down from above, I'm intrigued by their love,"_ Six sang, the serenity and compassion cracking for just the slightest moment, confusion shining through, before the Butcher Bird offered him a hand.

" _So let's call…"_ the shorter man crooned, nothing harsh on display for the briefest of moments. Then he smiled, razor-sharp.

" _Hm...let's call."_

The two stepped away to a storm of applause, but Smoker didn't join in. Instead, he watched as the two slipped away, replaced by Lauren and an enlisted Marine. He watched as T-Bone got up to leave, a fuming Grigori Vinci left at the table alone.

He watched, and wondered exactly how much of what he'd seen was an act. If none at all...then he was missing a lot of pieces, and if he wanted to figure out what Grigori was planning here…

Smoker sighed, suddenly feeling a lot older than he really was. This wasn't his field. But he'd be damned if he wasted the opportunity.

He met Grigori Vinci's eyes, and after a moment, the younger man nodded. Smoker reclaimed his seat. "Guess that didn't go well," he muttered as Lauren and her Marine friend - judging from the unit patch, one of T-Bone's soldiers - began their song.

" _I've got the reach and the teeth of a killin' machine,_

 _With a need to bleed you when the light goes green_

 _Best believe, I'm in a zone to be_

 _From my Yin to my Yang to my Yang Tze._

 _Put a grin on my chin when you come to me_

 _'Cuz I'll win, I'm one-of-a-kind and I'll bring death_

 _To the place you're about to be:_

 _Another river of blood runnin' under my feet."_

"You could say that," the Warlord growled. "The arrogant little…" He stopped. "It's family matters," he said tiredly. "Old business with him that, whatever he claims, remains unsettled. And now, I suppose I have a free slot tomorrow."

" _Forged in a fire lit long ago, stand next to me,_

 _You'll never stand alone._

 _I'm last to leave, but the first to go,_

 _Lord, make me dead before you make me old._

 _I feed on the fear of the devil inside of the_

 _Enemy faces in my sights:_

 _Aim with the hand, shoot with the mind,_

 _Kill with a heart like arctic ice."_

"And now you want me to come with you to...whatever it is," Smoker grumbled.

Grigori grinned. "Precisely."

" _I am a Soldier and I'm marching on,_

 _I am a warrior and this is my song_

 _I bask in the glow of the rising war,_

 _Lay waste to the ground of an enemy shore,_

 _Wade through the blood spilled on the floor, and if_

 _Another one stands I'll kill some more._

 _Bullet in the breech and a fire in me,_

 _Like a cigarette thrown to gasoline, if_

 _Death don't bring you fear I swear_

 _You'll fear these marching feet."_

"Is it not karaoke?"

" _Come to the nightmare, come to me,_

 _Deep down in the dark where the devil be,_

 _In the maw with the jaws and the razor teeth,_

 _Where the brimstone burns and the angel weeps._

 _Call to the gods if I cross your path and_

 _My silhouette hangs like a body bag;_

 _Hope is a moment now long past,_

 _The shadow of death is the one I cast."_

"No, mercifully."

" _I am a Soldier I'm marching on,_

 _I am a warrior and this is my song_

 _My eyes are steel and my gaze is long,_

 _I am a warrior and this is my song..._

 _Now I live lean and I mean to inflict the grief,_

 _And the least of me's still out of your reach._

 _The killing machine's gonna do the deed,_

 _Until the river runs dry and my last breath leaves._

 _Chin in the air with a head held high,_

 _I'll stand in the path of the enemy line._

 _Feel no fear, know my pride:_

 _For God and Country I'll end your life."_

"Fine. Suppose someone has to keep an eye on you."

" _I am a Soldier and I'm marching on,_

 _I am a warrior and this is my song_

 _My eyes are steel and my gaze is long,_

 _I am a warrior and this is my song…"_

Vinci cocked his head as the two left, replaced by C, and violins began to play. "Ah, I know this one. Fits him."

" _When the Devil is too busy,_

 _And death's a bit too much,_

 _They call on me, by name you see,_

 _For my special touch._

 _To the gentlemen I'm Miss Fortune,_

 _To the ladies I'm Sir Prize,_

 _But call me by any name,_

 _Any way it's all the same._

 _I'm the fly in your soup,_

 _I'm the pebble in your shoe,_

 _I'm the pea beneath your bed,_

 _I'm the bump on every head,_

 _I'm the peel on which you slip,_

 _I'm a pin in every hip,_

 _I'm the thorn in your side,_

 _Makes you wriggle and writhe..._

 _And it's so easy when you're evil,_

 _This is the life, you see,_

 _The Devil tips is hat to me,_

 _I do it all because I'm evil,_

 _And I do it all for free,_

 _Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need_

 _While there's children to make sad,_

 _While there's candy to be had,_

 _While there's pockets left to pick,_

 _While there's grannies left to trip down the stairs,_

 _I'll be there, I'll be waiting 'round the corner,_

 _It's a game, I'm glad I'm in it,_

 _'Cos there's one born every minute,_

 _And it's so easy when you're evil,_

 _This is the life, you see,_

 _The Devil tips is hat to me,_

 _I do it all because I'm evil,_

 _And I do it all for free,_

 _Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need._

 _I pledge my allegiance,_

 _To all things dark and I,_

 _Promise on my damned soul,_

 _To, do as I am told_

 _Lord Beelzebub has never seen,_

 _A soldier quite like me,_

 _Not only does his job, but does it happily..._

 _I'm the fear that keeps you awake,_

 _I'm the shadows on the wall,_

 _I'm the monsters they become,_

 _I'm the nightmare in your skull,_

 _I'm the dagger in your back,_

 _An extra turn upon the rack,_

 _I'm the quivering of your heart_

 _A stabbing pain, a sudden start..._

 _And it's so easy when you're evil,_

 _This is the life, you see,_

 _The Devil tips is hat to me,_

 _I do it all because I'm evil,_

 _And I do it all for free,_

 _Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need._

 _And I do it all for free,_

 _Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need.._

 _And I do it all for free,_

 _Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need..._

 _It gets so lonely being evil_

 _What I'd do to see a smile_

 _Even for a little while_

 _And no one loves you when you're evil…"_

The ghoul grinned.

" _I'm lying through my teeth_

 _Your tears are all the company I need."_

"Malevolent, annoying, and repetitive. Fits you perfectly," Smoker said.

The Warlord looked highly offended.

" _Repetitive?"_ he choked out. "Just for that, you're going to sing."

* * *

It's quiet.

I really hadn't known how to appreciate that, for some time. But the Dragon is silent, still there but just... _quiet_.

The streets are empty, the park we're in unoccupied, leaving me and Six alone on the bench we've claimed. And I…

Hell, I don't know.

He's still conked out on my shoulder. It's...cute. And, quite honestly, it's nice having him around in general. But….

But. This is...dangerous, in a lot of ways. I don't...fuck, I don't know how to deal with any of this. What he wants, what _I_ want, it doesn't really matter. He's...vulnerable. I don't mean emotionally, I mean...literally. Fragile. _Human._ And at the end of the day, I _can't_ pursue something with someone who registers in the back of my mind as a potential snack.

He deserves better than that. After everything else, he deserves better.

Six mumbles something sleepily, and blinks himself awake, running his hands through his hair.

"You know, if you're going to keep passing out like this, I'm going to get worried if you're getting enough sleep," I say, trying for levity.

Six shrugs, leaning into me a little more. "I do," he says, scent tinged with contentment. "Just…" He yawns. "It was...tiring, going up there."

"Worth it?"

"Yes," he mumbles. "Did you find it so?"

"Eh, you know how I am. I get to tweak Smoker's nose, I'm good. Helps that you're a better singer than me."

"Mrh." He buries his face in the folds of my coat.

"Why do you keep wanting to come out here, if it's too cold for you?" I ask with a chuckle, letting a tail out to shield him from the worst of it. It covers him gently, and one of his hands pulls it close like a blanket.

"Quiet," he answers. "Peaceful." He stops for a moment. "Thank you," he says softly. "Though I dispute that you are a worse singer than me."

"Dispute all you like," I say gently. "I'm better on guitar, anyway."

"Hrm." His legs swing up onto the bench, and he leans over still further, until his head's propped against my leg. I resist the sudden urge to card my hands through his hair. I'm probably giving him enough mixed messages as it is.

"Comfy?" I ask, a little sarcastically.

"Yes," he answers bluntly.

"Never really asked, but you're not all that comfortable with contact with anyone else," I say softly. "Why me, of all people?"

"You're...the Dragon," Six says quietly. "You're safe."

I let out a breath.

"Not always," I reply, thinking of Pravilno. Ostavila. The Old Man, who I couldn't save at all. Thinking of men and women who died screaming and in fear, because it was that or starvation. "Not for most people, anyway. Most humans."

"By some definitions, I am not human," Six says quietly. His scent radiates wariness, just a tinge of it under everything else. "It does not matter. Things are...simpler, near you."

"Could've fooled me," I say quietly. "Half the time, it seems my life insists on getting more complicated."

"And you deal with them," Six murmurs. "That's...good. It's what you do."

"Believe me, if you've got suggestions, I'll take them," I say. "What do you want, Six? With... _this._ Because…" I stop for a moment. "I don't think," I say carefully. "That I'm your best bet. _Because_ of what I am...and because you…" I stop. "I don't really have the words," I admit. "But I don't want to see you getting hurt, because of me."

"Then…" Six pauses, and something in the scent surrounding him pulls back from cautiousness and into determination. "I understand," he says quietly. "Do you want me to go?"

"If you want to go back to the ship, I'll take you there. Don't want you getting frostbite," I say gently. "But... it's your choice. Not mine."

"Then I will stay." Six says quietly, settling slightly closer.

There was silence, scents tinged with contemplation before he spoke again.

"With, with my former crew, I used to think that avoiding pain was all there was. It was all I could... all I could achieve, all I could expect. Less hurting." he pauses for another moment, and I can almost see the thoughts aligning. "But now, there is more than that. I have come to realize that there is more than simply avoiding pain. That pain might be a risk worth taking. Even if it hurts, there exists the possibility for something... better. If all we do is avoid the hurt we'll never know what that more could have been."

My mouth was dry, my own voice hoarse. "I don't want to hurt you."

Six sits up and turns to look at me, pulling the tail closer about himself. "I know. I will not tell you that it is impossible you could, for nothing is truly impossible. I can only tell you that I don't think you will. Violence is in your nature, but the Dragon is not a mindless thing. I know that you will protect me, because you want to, and that you won't hurt me, because you don't want to." A ghost of a smile flickers around the edge of his expression. "And I believe you overestimate my fragility."

Six lays back down, his head pillowed on my leg. I sigh quietly. "Just that simple?"

He nods sleepily. "Just that simple." We watch the stars dimly twinkling for a few moments, until I almost think he's asleep, but he murmurs one last thing.

"The future will come. Fret not, Dragon. You are the tyrant who sits over all. If you will it, so will it be."

I let my head fall backwards and absently wrapped another tail around the big blue lunkhead. Almost silently, I whisper his last words.

"If I will it, so will it be." I smile, strike a match, and light my pipe. "Why the hell not?" I mutter.

In the distance, I can hear a familiar voice. We're not so far away from the bar that I can't tell who's singing.

"You can run on for a long time,

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Go tell that long tongue liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler,

The gambler,

The back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news

My head's been wet with the midnight dew

I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee

He spoke to me in the voice so sweet

I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel's feet

He called my name and my heart stood still

When he said, "Son, go do My will!"

Go tell that long tongue liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler,

The gambler,

The back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand

Workin' in the dark against your fellow man

But as sure as God made black and white

What's down in the dark will be brought to the light

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Go tell that long tongue liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler,

The gambler,

The back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down…"


	78. Chapter 98

Anyone who thinks the ocean floor is quiet is an idiot. Either nature documentaries narrated from inside submersibles didn't prepare me in the slightest, or the Grand Line wildlife doesn't care about such things as 'eating enough food to sustain their hugeness', or both.

The ocean floor is fucking _noisy_ , is what I'm saying. There's whale-sized creatures all over the place, judging from the sheer amount of calls I'm hearing.

Not that I can _see_ them, since the Lamp Dial I'm using can only send light so far.

At least the local sea beasties have learned to keep their distance. Eviscerating and eating anything that attacks you tends to send a message that even Sea Kings pay attention to, I guess.

I trudge through the knee-deep mud, keeping track of how far I've gone thus far.

Honestly, I'm glad for the breathing exercises the Old Man started me on, before he got too sick to demonstrate the advanced techniques he'd been planning to pass on. Pity the only book of those he'd had was in a language and text I couldn't bloody well read...it's still up in my cabin somewhere, come to think of it.

Fucking Key Rattan secrecy bullshit…

I'd mutter, but that would let the water in. I can _survive_ that, but it's not exactly pleasant.

Still. All this will be worth it.

See, finding seastone is normally a pain in the ass. It only shows up on specific low-lying mountain ranges, and just about every one of the mines are under World Government control. Vinci _probably_ could get his hands on some thanks to being a Warlord, but it'd draw a lot of suspicion.

I'd asked him for a solution after getting thrashed by Smoker. He'd locked himself in his lab for six hours with a crateful of geology books and Lauren, caused six explosions and a dozen shrieking noises that went right through the soundproofing (and scared the shit out of the work crews infesting the _Ends_ ), and emerged with a grin and directions.

It was a lengthy explanation involving edges of continental shelves, deep sea currents and mineral outcroppings, and I listened and nodded along until he got to the point and told me where to go to try and dig some of the stuff up.

Hence my underwater excursion, aided by the simple expedient of very heavy ankle weights and the fact that I'm basically my own digging equipment.

I trudge a bit longer, then pause. All right, if Vinci is on the money…

Forming tails underwater always feels weird. Takes longer, and it's harder to move them under all this pressure. But it works anyway, and all six sink through the mud until they hit rock, moving at blurring speeds as they begin to clear some working space. Once I've got a decent-sized pit clear of mud, I start drilling.

Ten meters down, I hit pay dirt. And by pay dirt, I mean an obstruction that my tails hit and immediately shred themselves against, unable to affect in the slightest. I reform them, and start excavating around the vein, feeling out it's limits. Twice, I hit an outcropping I wasn't expecting, and it's slow work trying to remove enough rock to be able to pull the damn thing out, but after nearly an hour, I finally have enough space to heave the fucking thing free.

It's incredibly heavy, a mass of mottled gold and grey ore nearly as large as I am, but I finally have it. I'd laugh, but again, water in lungs isn't fun.

Hey, scaley, you listening?

 _I am._

So, there's two ways to go about this. One, I drag it up to Herman in secret, he fucks around with it, and we get to carry around some new weapons.

 _I decline. We can be separated from those too easily. As a backup, maybe, but such a thing should not be our only resort._

Yeah, same line of thought. Even if we worked together…

 _The result against a Logia without a clear weakness would be the same. Perhaps we could counter the Ice logia, but even that would be unlikely given what we know of his strength._

You've spent some time thinking about this.

 _I will keep you safe, child. I regard you trying to fight an Admiral as an inevitability, given your...our...attachment to mortals._

And causes, don't forget that.

 _Hrmph. You do tend to be single-minded once you decide on something._

Hush. The second option is easier, if we can manage it.

 _Oh?_

Do you think our tails could break down and corrode seastone to eat and incorporate?

 _Hrrm. It is harder than anything we have attempted before, isn't it? But if we could break it down...crystalline structures form the hard surfaces of everything we are forged of. Imitation and fixation of it should not be beyond us. But why go looking for so much more power? We can become whole at a moment's notice._

Well, Haki isn't exactly in my repertoire, is it?

 _Unless we happen to find, overcome, and devour one of our own who has such an ability, it will take years of training to use it with reliability._

So, yes.

 _Yes._

You sound a lot like Vinci, half the time, have you realized that?

 _He is an increasingly wise man, despite his youth. Perhaps you should listen more._

You do realize you're talking about the guy who literally just yesterday threw a pig with wings at his cousin to make a point?

 _I said increasingly. It is not difficult when the bar has been lowered to levels approximating that of an ocean trench. Now, let's see if we can eat this particularly shiny rock._

I wrap my tails around the fragment of ore, noting how the water around them starts to bubble and boil.

The rock under my feet shakes, disrupting the chorus of ocean sounds around me, and I smile.

Looks like the others are hard at work as well.

* * *

On some level, Vinci was quietly outraged at Jack, for assuming he _needed_ bodyguards. Ten picked men, given the latest weapons Lauren and Herman turned out in collaboration (six combinations of gun-halberd and immense tower shields, two with cut-down assault cannons, one with a flamethrower derived from Lauren's own, and the last with what could best be described as the unholy lovechild of one of the Cog's lightning cannons and a rocket launcher) and armored just as excessively as Jack himself was, said armor ornately carved with both protective runes (from Herman's Huscarls, and Vinci was willing to indulge their superstitions just this once) and carefully crafted artistic murals, embossed in copper and gold. They were the best-trained, most lethal of the Wolf-type Augments, loyal beyond reproach, deadly beyond reckoning. Kaneki had sparred each of them, and all of them had lasted at least ten minutes against him. Jack had called them the Companions.

It was still vaguely insulting to assume that he actually required _help_ against the current crop of opposition he would be facing.

So, outrage. Still present.

On the other hand, they were a remarkably bolstering presence against a clearly furious Rear Admiral Gripper.

"So let me see if I understand this correctly," the Rear Admiral (and really, that rank was an insult, the man had the requisite ability to be a Vice Admiral, and not one of the weaker ones) gritted out. "You decided to conduct a training exercise. On top of a mountain. With two Devil Fruit users. Whereupon, the interaction between their powers caused a magnitude four earthquake that _shook the entire island._ "

Vinci shrugged. "I'm pretty sure we found Arlen's resonant frequency by accident."

Not by accident in the slightest, mind you. That'd been careful tuning, collaboration between Six's knowledge and versatility and Gin's durability and raw power. And it'd yielded results, oh so sweet results, in the fact that the tremors had rung the entire island like a bell...and between them, it had let Six and Vinci figure out what lay beneath the isle of Arlen.

Specifically, the rough shape of the immense bunkers beneath the Center for Disease Prevention and Research.

"By accident," the Rear Admiral said dubiously.

"Yes, _accident_ ," Vinci stressed. "Trust me, pulling a Whitebeard was the last of my intentions. Was there any significant damage?"

"No, luckily," Gripper allowed, clearly reluctant to cut Vinci even that measure of slack. "I trust you won't attempt such a thing again?"

"What would the point be, beyond pissing you off?" Vinci asked, very carefully not answering Gripper's question. "I've got work to get back to. And quite frankly...I don't take orders from you, Rear Admiral." He cocked his head, grinning. "Warlord, after all. Ciao."

He walked away, leaving the man fuming on the grounds of the Marine base. The Companions followed him.

He did have work to do, after all...just not the kind that was going to be particularly helpful to the World Government.

Kaneki was his own digging equipment, and him going off and hunting Sea Kings was something the Marines had already gotten accustomed to at this point - helped more than a little by Jack carefully disseminating the first mate's circumstances and dietary necessities to said Marines, and the implication that if he didn't, he'd start snacking on _them_ \- and the mere fact that he did his work _underwater_ made it easy to hide any digging. He'd ask him to get to work, give him a map, and hope for the best - a tunnel to those bunkers seemed like the best option for a breach, after all.

And while Kaneki worked...Vinci would keep playing along. The World Government was far, far too paranoid to outright accept his designs, even if Doctor Franz Josef was surprisingly enthusiastic about Augments. And Vinci was perfectly willing to let that paranoia and obstruction occur - it would make the inevitable cleanup easier.

He didn't feel particularly bad about what that would entail - namely, the mass slaughter of every single scientist in the Center. They'd made their choices when they'd thrown in with the Government, every single one of them.

He figured he'd save his cousin and T-Bone for last, when the day came.

Or…. _if_ the day came.

Because while the Center clearly had _something_ to hide, it'd be the nature of that something that would determine whether or not Vinci followed through on scorched earth tactics. He was...beginning to reconsider his ability to inference and understand people. First the Hunt, then Kaneki, then T-Bone...his record at understanding people's motivations was not precisely stellar.

 _There is nothing I can say that can change the past,_ the gaunt bastard had said that night. _But to see you where you are today...your parents would have only felt shame, to see how far you have fallen._

So...perhaps his initial assumptions about the nature of the Center were in error. At the very least, there appeared to be _some_ sort of semi-legitimate quarantine, for all that actually finding information on it was proving...surprisingly frustrating. The most Jack's efforts had yielded was that whatever the local plague was, it was ubiquitous in the population, difficult to transmit beyond it, and being carefully contained by medical supply shipments. It seemed suspicious, but plagues in the Grand Line, like just about everything else in it, were not obligated to follow traditional rules.

A pity that the local authorities seemed hesitant to let him anywhere near the plague city. A cover-up was a possibility, but one balanced by the simple consideration that, well, if he _did_ get genuine plague samples, there was all the possibility in the world he'd find a use for them.

Ah, well. He had an idea of how to circumvent that, anyway. He just had to be at the top of his game tonight.

He'd been planning to work on T-Bone instead of Smoker, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

* * *

Lauren was a little bit pissed at Kaneki and Herman, to be honest.

Less Kaneki, more Herman, on reflection. Kaneki had only provided raw materials.

She dodged to the side, avoiding Tashigi's descending cut, and swung out with her hatchet, forcing the other woman to move to block. The blow didn't connect - that new blade of hers treated steel like butter, and Lauren was on her backup hatchet and backup for her backup knife's backup to boot - but it was enough to put her opponent on the back foot, and she pressed that momentary advantage ruthlessly. Axe and knife wove, constantly probing Tashigi's defenses, never giving her a moment to go back on the attack.

Brush up on knife work, she'd thought, but what was probably a spar to test Herman's newest baby had quickly turned into a fight just short of them actively trying to murder one another.

Herman might've been willing to forgive the bitch for starting a fight with him, but Lauren hadn't. Her crew might've been the stuff of nightmares and monsters in the dark, but they were still _hers_ , and Tashigi had been an utter cunt at first.

'Decent' Marine or not, that called for a price to be paid.

Lauren grinned viciously, leaning back to avoid a swing of the blade that would've taken her neck if she hadn't, and threw her knife at Tashigi's head. The woman leaned to the side to avoid the flying blade, and as she went off-balance Lauren's free hand latched onto the wrist of her sword arm. The sword clattered to the dirt, followed shortly by Tashigi herself.

"That's three times now," Lauren said shortly. "Your balance is still crap." She offered a hand up (be better, always be better, that was how she'd balance the scales, make her see that). "Who the hell taught you?"

"Nobody," Tashigi mumbled as she got to her feet, blushing slightly. "Not since basic training. Had to learn by myself, because there wasn't a single sword master who'd take me on."

Lauren cocked her head. "Let me guess...they didn't want a swords _woman?_ "

"It's none of your business," Tashigi growled.

Lauren snorted. "Is if it's left your fighting style completely fucked. The big guy wants me to help, I'll make sure you won't be fucking around with whatever kludge you've been using till now."

"Why isn't he here, anyway?" the Marine muttered, dusting herself off.

"Way he put it, he figured you and him clashing again would make Smoker burst a blood vessel. Also, I'm about as close as you're going to get to you, build-wise. Easier to adjust."

It would've been easier with Ostavila - she had seemed to know how to use just about any weapon, and she'd also been built like Lauren and Tashigi, but…

Lauren shook her head, ignoring the memories and the emotions they brought. Later. She'd deal with that later.

"I don't get it," the swordswoman said. "I was able to cut Herman...but you're a ranged combatant, not a swordswoman, and I can't land a hit on you."

Lauren chuckled. "One, Herman's a dumbass who's used to tanking with armor and his bastard version of the Six Powers. He'll take the hits, I won't. Two, he's nicer than I am, under the growly facade. I'm _Nightmare_ , through and through. Three...how many people have you fought who _don't_ use a sword?"

Tashigi blinked. "Not many," she said hesitantly. "Not at all, really."

Lauren made a finger gun. "Exactly. Teach yourself to fight swordsmen, and that's all you're gonna be good at, soon enough." She grinned, and cracked her neck. "Lucky for you, I'm here to fight you with everything else."

"Why?" Tashigi asked.

Lauren narrowed her eyes. "Why, what?"

"I just...I don't get it. Why the hell are you being so...helpful? You, Herman, your Captain, the _damn Butcher Bird_ , all of you - it doesn't make any sense!"

"Okay, let me nip _that_ in the bud," Lauren said. "I don't like you, Marine. You're a self-righteous cunt with a sword fetish, and it's only the fact that Herman fucked you up already that's kept me from putting a hole in your head for what you did." She paused, silencing the half-formed exclamation from Tashigi with a glare. "I'm not your friend. Nor am I doing this to be nice. I'm doing it because the big lunkhead thinks you've got potential, and _he_ seems to tolerate you, for some reason." She folded her arms. "That said...you're making a big mistake, assuming we're _supposed_ to hate you. Not like we're all scum."

"You just said you-"

"I don't like you because of who you are, not what," Lauren growled. "Haven't had much trouble with Marines, and…" She paused. "They've been decent," she said. "But if half of what Kaneki says is true, that's not the typical Marine. And we're not typical pirates."

"I'm not sure I believe you," Tashigi said skeptically.

"Well, let's look at the officers. You know how Kaneki's life's been fucked up, and he joined because the Captain said he'd try to find a workaround to having to eat people. The amount of Sea King bones piling up outside Port Roybal should tell you enough about that. The Captain himself got slapped with the death penalty for resisting arrest, if that hadn't happened he probably would've ended up in the merchant marine. Herman was basically raised by pirates, Jack was born into the life, Gin...Gin's had it the worst out of anyone, from what little he's told people. C was an accident and it really isn't his fault he's so fucked in the head, and Six...Six, honestly, we can say we rescued and gave a better life to. Some of the crew might've signed on because they wanted the loot or an adventure...but they don't give the orders. We do. And we're only pirates because life fucked us over. And then someone like you...you come along, and say we're evil, for making the only choices we could." Lauren shook her head. "Thing is, we're not. We're people, same as you. And it's in us to give a shit about people like you, Marine or not."

"So why'd you join?" Tashigi asked. "What made signing up with the Nightmares the only choice you could make?"

Lauren chuckled. "Guess you could say I'm the black sheep of the bunch," she admitted. "What the hell. Let me tell you about Crucix, and how I decided to balance my own debts."


	79. Informational Pieces

Accumulated informational bits from the thread on Spacebattles.

 _White for the fledgling, pale and bloodless, the first shell to crack_

 _Blue for the weakling, single frail tail, hunger to drive him_

 _Red for the warrior, hoarding his armor, awaiting fury and death_

 _Green for the student, mastering two arts, until arms he can bear_

 _Gold for the schemer, three aspects rising, ambition aflame_

 _And black for the monster, who need not devour._

 _\- Poetic stanza, found inscribed on a wall in the Romanus excavation site, estimated to be fifty years old, author unknown._

* * *

 _Stages of development are synchronized according to maturation of C-cell Variant B structures and surrounding support structures (see Dissection Notes)_

 _Initial stage consists of seeding of pseudolymphlike nodes through vascular system and bone marrow, producing stable Variant A cells and a small quantity of Variant B_

 _Development centers along spinal cord, four primary node clusters emerge, one develops quicker than others (environmental factors?). Increasing production of Variant B cells increases host intake requirements re: Variant A's for breakdown and expansion, this continues as stages develop_

 _Initial expression of initial node cluster is restrained and immature. Maturity of initial node cluster coincides with increase in density of vascular/epidermal Variant B networks, laying groundwork for first stage full-body expression. In harsh conditions, incomplete networks are utilized to produce an incomplete form of this expression, which is unstable but at times necessary for escape or conflict. Second of the four node clusters (again, random) begins at this stage._

 _Maturation of secondary node cluster begins alongside completion of vascular/epidermal Variant B networks, allowing stable full-body expression. Development of tertiary node cluster begins afterwards, typically coinciding with period of high Variant A intake, or extreme environmental stress. Muscular networks of Variant B pseudolymphlike nodes begin to develop._

 _With incomplete muscular networks, large-scale structure formation is a possibility, albeit unstable. Once completed, large-scale structure expression stabilizes._

 _Current theory suggests megascale structure formation a possibility, but unlikely. Variant B cells too unstable to maintain such a state even in semi-stable forms such as seen in full-body/large-scale expression. Would have to somehow stabilize Variant B cells (Variant C?), while maintaining adaptive properties. Beyond current science._

 _Quarternary node cluster development and maturation appears to be final stage._

 _-Notes of [REDACTED] concerning C-cell development, Abnormality Case B_

* * *

 ** _KI RATA_**

 _A surpassingly powerful style of martial art, Ki Rata is considered an extinct style at the time of writing, due to the circumstances behind its teachings._

 _Originally created (allegedly) by Arima Ali Zun, founder of the Sevenfold Kingdom, the art remained passed down through the Royal line throughout the centuries, only being taught to the heirs to the throne and a small number of individuals chosen specifically by the reigning monarch. While the heirs were allowed to pass the art to their own children and companions once they became ruler, those not of the Arima line were entirely forbidden from sharing the exercises and principles behind their training with others, enforced by the reigning monarch and punishable by swift and immoderate death. This resulted in a small, reclusive art, but one that has had undeniable effectiveness on the battlefield in the hands of its practitioners._

 _From what few glimpses of its use have been gleaned over the years, the following can be surmised about the art of Ki Rata: it relies heavily on breathing exercises as a means of internal focus and discipline, relies heavily on said discipline to use its techniques without inflicting severe harm to the user, and strikes are organized into levels of power called 'points', each additional point representing a hundredfold increase in power from an equivalently applied blow of the lower point. A one-point strike performed with one finger is sufficient to shatter stone, and there are tales of nine or ten-point strikes being used to wipe cities or islands off the face of the earth - likely exaggerations, but one can never tell._

 _However, for all the deadliness of the art, it was not sufficient to prevent the usurpation of Arima Zoss by his Councillors, nor his eventual earning of a bounty before vanishing into obscurity once more. With the reigning monarch gone, and the heir to the throne, Arima Zettai, having taken to wandering the earth as a vagabond swordswoman and noodle connoisseur after her part in the usurpation, the only known active practitioner of this art is Fleet Admiral Sengoku, having learned it as a young man from Zoss's father, Arima Zen. Sengoku has refused all requests to teach the art to others, citing the oath required of him, but has on occasion displayed his mastery of it in impeccable fashion - a six-point strike utilized during Golden Lion Shiki's assault on Marineford was responsible for bringing the man down to earth and within range of Garp the Hero._

 _Sadly, with no willing teachers or disciples of the art, it appears that Ki Rata shall be consigned to the history books once the Fleet Admiral retires or passes away._

 _-_ Excerpt from _The Manual of Slaughter: A Thousand Killing Arts,_ a treatise by Priscus Verus, former Lord of the Red Sands. A manual concerning various combat techniques in both armed and unarmed styles, it was eventually banned worldwide for its political content - namely, the assertion of the existence of 'the greatest art', by the name of Krayu Mat, that according to the author originated in the Void Century and was utilized against the Twenty Kingdoms. The book was eventually destroyed via an organized effort by the World Government for violating their laws concerning even attempting to research that period of history, and Priscus Verus was killed by the Marine Admiral Akainu in a battle that turned a significant portion of the island of Tatakai's deserts into glass. Copies are alleged to survive in the libraries of Kaido and Charlotte Linlin, as well as the land of Mariejois.


	80. Chapter 99

His cloak itched. Part of Smoker wished he was paranoid enough to blame it on Vinci, but the man was wearing the exact same kind of garment to protect against the freezing rain, and quite frankly Smoker refused to lose enough sanity that he started associating everything even slightly awry in his life with a single person.

He followed the man - the significantly taller man, a foot in height that _most definitely_ hadn't been there yesterday, what the hell - through the cobblestoned streets of Port Roybal, until they came to a warehouse near the docks of the town. It would have seemed abandoned, if not for the very large man looming in the shadows near the street entrance.

Grigori just smiled winningly at the man as they walked up. The big man put a hand to his belt, reaching for some sort of weapon, but Grigori held up a pair of golden tabs - where had he gotten those?

" _Kulta Punaiselle Ottelulle,"_ he said, tossing both to the big man, who caught them in midair with one hand while touching his knuckle to his forehead with the other.

" _Veri hiekalla,"_ the guard rumbled, before opening the door, revealing...two more men, these armed with swords, a great number of crates, and a cellar entrance that lay open to reveal a descending staircase, lit fitfully by lanterns.

Grigori strode down the stairs confidently, and Smoker followed, wondering what the point was. Behind them, both the warehouse and cellar doors closed.

"What the hell did you say to him?" Smoker muttered.

"Haven't the slightest idea," Grigori whispered back. "Jack's the one who arranged this. Got a whole lecture about it, too." He paused. "They call it the Red Bout," he continued, as they descended the steps still further, only the lanterns lighting their way. "Seven centuries old, this tradition. The Guilds of Arlen are a power of their own, with what amounts to private armies, and the bloodshed back then...well, it was horrific. So, the leader of the Guild of Assassins had an idea. Why not combat by champion?" Grigori smiled, teeth appearing razor-sharp in the shifting half-light. "The other guild heads laughed at the idea. Then their successors received the heads of said guild heads on their nightstands. Suddenly, it seemed a much better way to keep disputes settled and bloodshed to a minimum."

They came to a door - an old one, iron-banded wood that looked like it hadn't been opened for decades, but it swung open silently at Grigori's tug. Grigori beckoned, and Smoker, despite his misgivings, stepped through...and stopped, gazing at the vast cavern that opened up beneath him. It was an arena carved out of the rock, row upon row of tiered seats descending downwards, already packed with people, hundreds of them. At the very bottom, a circular pit, filled with sand, sat there...and someone was dragging a body off of it, towards one of the two tunnel entrances on opposite sides of the arena.

"A blood match," Smoker grated. "That's what you wanted to show me?"

"Quite legal, actually. It predates Arlen joining the World Government proper, there were treaties and all sorts of paperwork." Grigori kept smiling. "Come on down. I paid for seats, and the next match...well, I won't spoil the surprise."

Damn smiling little shit. But Smoker controlled the instinctive urge to shatter that smug grin (Warlord, and _dangerous_ beyond his physicality in a way those rarely were) and followed Grigori down another set of steps, walking past the rows of crowded seats until they were at the very edge, overlooking the fighting pit proper. Only two seats remained unoccupied, right on the edge of the row. Smoker took one, Grigori the other.

A single person stood in the center of the arena, an albino woman with waist-length hair wearing a long red dress. She grinned at the audience, and spread her arms wide. " _Ladies and gentlemen, the eighth match of the evening is about to begin!"_ she announced with bombast. " _The Guild of Assassins has answered the challenge of the Guild of Dockworkers, and both have brought the finest of fighters to settle this grudge! In this corner-"_ she waved to one of the tunnels. " _-we have a monster of myth, a black-eyed masked demon who's torn through all in his path. He devours his enemies, and leaves nothing but bones behind! Pay heed to this scaled carrion king, ladies and gentlemen, because here he comes to make his debut on the sands of the Red Bout, fighting for the Guild of Assassins! Standing at six foot one and weighing in at 214 pounds, it's the Butcher Bird, YOSHIMURA KANEKIIIIIII!"_

The crowd roared as one, baying for blood, and Smoker glared at Vinci. Another demonstration of what the Butcher Bird could do, then? Well, he'd keep an eye on it. At the very least, it would be a chance to figure out how the bastard fought seriously, rather than screwing around to burn off energy like he'd done before.

The Butcher Bird walked out of the tunnel, the defaced Marine coat hanging off his shoulders and the little round sunglasses he wore gleaming in the artificial light. He wore a wide grin, cracking his knuckles as he advanced to the center. A song played over hidden speakers, audible even over the cheers of the crowd.

 _"This ain't no place for no hero….this ain't no place for no, better man...this ain't no place for a hero, to call home…"_

" _And opposing him, we have a familiar face, a fighter who's shattered every opponent who's faced him in this ring. He wields his staff with the skill of a lifetime brawler, but he's never lost his sunny disposition. Welcome back our favorite contender, ladies and gentlemen, for his one hundredth fight, and hope for it to be his one hundredth victory for the Guild of Dockworkers! Standing in at seven foot two and weighing in at two hundred and forty-six pounds, it's the King of the Iron Stave, AKIIIIIIRAAAA HORUUUUUUUUSSS!"_

Smoker almost didn't hear the screaming of the crowd as he processed the fact that the local chief of security participated in underground death matches. He nearly missed the entrance of the black-haired man, who entered stripped to the waist and carrying a staff of black iron in one hand, smiling happily. He, too, had a song.

 _"It's been a long time coming, but the table's turned around, cuz one of us is going, one of us is going down!"_

He didn't need to even look to see Grigori's smug grin.

"If you're going to say something, stow it," he growled. "I'm not interested in your needling."

Grigori laughed. "Not the plan, Commodore. Just here to watch the fight." He steepled his fingers. "Besides...it's still legal. Just, maybe not, and the betting that surrounds it is _definitely_ illegal, but…" He shrugged. "What can you do? Not like they're _committing genocide."_

Smoker took a deep breath. "Ohara, huh?" He'd heard the accusation thrown around, more than a few times.

"I could sympathize with it, if I believed they'd really been researching the Ancient Weapons," Grigori said, golden eyes glittering. "But when they _slaughtered_ their own for even the slightest hint of defiance, it became obvious that their goal was extermination for an entirely different reason. Kaneki's sources only confirmed it. It's why he's pissed at you, and pretty much every other Marine. Seeing someone wearing the same uniform, even if they don't know the atrocities committed in its name...well, he's easy enough to tick off as it is. It's why he thinks he's better. Because he's never committed the same kind of acts, and he doesn't claim to be just."

"And what about you? Do you think you're better?" Smoker asked.

Grigori chuckled. "Hardly. I'd do the same, if it was a nation weighed against my crew. But I'm a cynic, and not a particularly good human being anyway. Kaneki, for all his doubts, remains an idealist, and a better man than me."

"If that was intended to be reassuring, it failed miserably," Smoker growled.

Grigori snorted. "Shut up and watch the fight, Marine."

" _Contestants ready? Begin!"_

* * *

Given the situation, I'm starting to wonder if Jack is actually being more of a plotter than Vinci.

Seriously, the man had managed to wrangle seats, a chance for me to fight, and even _more_ men for the crew on short notice, _and_ gotten paid by the Assassin's Guild for the trouble.

Granted, it'd been easier to pull off since the _usual_ fighter they resorted to was currently being digested by yours truly. I would've had qualms about it if not for Mr. Kure Raijin's extensive record of murder in the ring and just about every other crime outside of it. He'd been untouchable largely through the simple fact that he didn't cause trouble in daylight and was good enough to outright murder anyone sent to kill him. Until me, that is.

I smile at Horus, cracking my neck. "Well, security boy? Got a plan?"

"Eh, mostly just kicking your ass," the big guy admits.

"You can try," I say, pulling free my trench knife. Remember, scaley, no tails. This is a training exercise.

 _Fine. But do not come crying to me if he beats you down._

" _Contestants ready? Begin!"_

Right, let's -

I blink for a moment, considering why I'm suddenly flat on my back. My aching jaw might have something to do with it.

 _"And Akira opens with a knockout blow, sending the Butcher Bird to the ground!"_

I get to my feet, glaring at Horus, who has his back turned to me and arms spread wide as he takes in the cheers of the crowd. Fast bastard.

 _Path of Air._

Let's see how he keeps up. I can _feel_ the reinforcements coiling around my bones, every day a little greater, a little more entrenched, and I smile, before launching myself forwards in a leap. The steel-knuckle grip of my trench knife slams into Horus's kidneys, sending him stumbling, and the shallow gash I open along his back makes him shout before he manages to turn, staff blurring into motion - but now visible, something I can keep up with. I leap out of the range of the staff, barely avoiding it, and my grin widens. "Let's dance, little king."

Horus grins back. "Shoulda known that love tap wouldn't put you down," he says. "Let's go."

I deflect the next strike, feeling my bones shake as I do. Then the next, and the next, and the next, as Horus advances, the whirling iron staff in his hands seeming to be a dozen places at once.

" _And the King is pushing the Butcher Bird back with a ferocious assault!"_ the announcer yells, the sheer volume piercing my eardrums. No shit, lady.

I think furiously as my body goes through the motions, deflecting and turning aside blows, every impact jarring me. Ribs. Face. Shoulder, knee, collarbone, blows that slip through.

Focus.

The trench knife is a poor weapon for defense. He's got reach and strength, possibly even more than me, and that staff of his is a lot more potent than I originally thought. My jaw is already aching, healing slower than it should, and every impact I can't deflect - I wince as a barely-dodged blow clips my torso - has the same effect. Problematic.

Solution? Attack.

When the next blow comes, a swing at head height, I don't dodge, I take the blow on an upraised arm. I barely absorb the impact, but Horus pauses in his assault just long enough for me to close in properly, and I hear him hiss in pain as I take that opening, trench knife carving open another gash along his chest. Not aiming to kill, just _hurt_ , until he can't continue.

Horus doesn't try to use his staff. Instead, his free hand grabs my wrist, twisting to try to force me to drop the knife. I follow the motion, flipping upside-down and bringing a knee to the side of his head, but he doesn't react to me rattling his brainpan and instead throws me like I'm a shot put. I hit the sand of the fighting pit, roll, and come up just in time for him to land a perfect blow to my chin, sending me flat on my back again. This time, there's no reprieve, and I roll to the side just in time to avoid a blow that _craters_ the arena floor.

" _It looks like the Butcher Bird's attacks have ticked Horus off!"_

I continue the roll, getting my feet under me just in time to take a swing right on my upraised forearms. I feel my bones creak under the sheer force of the blow, and it sends me skidding back, plumes of dust rising into the air. A momentary loss of balance, and he rushes in again, an overhead blow that I don't have the right footing to absorb slamming me into the ground again, the earth and rock cracking underneath me. I think a rib snaps off, cartilage breaking before the bone does.

Then he stomps on me, and yup, that was _definitely_ a rib. Ow.

" _The Butcher Bird looks down for the count! Is this the end?"_

Give me a fucking moment, lady.

"Kaneki."

The voice is quiet. It shouldn't be audible over the crowd. My vision's blurred with pain, I shouldn't be able to even see him, but I do anyway. My captain.

"Stop fucking around."

Simple as that. An order given, and one that I'll always obey.

"Roger, Captain," I croak through bloody lips.

 _Let us go to work._

It's time for some old tricks.

* * *

Akira Horus hummed to himself as the Butcher Bird got to his feet. The smile on his face was a lot less real right now.

He'd been expecting a fight, from what Dad had told him, but the Butcher Bird didn't want to give him one. No tails, no wings, not even scary eyes. Was this just a guy dressed up as the Butcher Bird?

He leaned the Blackstaff against his shoulder, keeping an eye on the guy. The Butcher Bird cracked his neck.

"The Old Man would be giving me _so_ much shit right now," the shorter man said, rolling his shoulders. "Getting my ass handed to me like this."

Really? He'd been holding up pretty well. Better than most people Horus had gone up against here - he'd been breaking out Armament for some of those strikes, and the Butcher Bird was still kicking. Horus really wished he'd been better at the _defensive_ half of Armament, though - those knife wounds _stung._

"Seriously. I've gotten sloppy."

Wait, Old Man?

"Hey, were you trained by some secretive wise old master?" Horus called out. "Was it for revenge?"

The Butcher Bird blinked. "Uh...yes?"

"Cool! So was I. We're backstory buddies!"

"Bwuh."

Horus's smile came back in full force. "Did you finish it yet? I mean, I dealt with my guys a couple years ago, they were a real pain in the ass but I won. What about you?"

The older man, after a long moment, shook his head. "Nah. Mine are up in the New World. Got a while to go until I'm strong enough to take them down."

"Aw, well, maybe I'll be able to help!"

The Butcher Bird stared at him. "You're not at all what I expected when I met your father," he said.

"Well, you ain't either. You don't seem that scary," Horus replied.

"Heh. I'm just getting started, brat." The Butcher Bird smiled. "Seems I've lost my edge. Been relying too much on what my species gives me rather than skill. Old Zoss would be tearing strips off me if he could see me now…ah, well. Let's fix that." He closed his eyes. The older man's breathing slowed and steadied, and he reached up to his neck, pulling the mask that hung there up to its proper place around his lower face.

When he opened his eyes again, they were red on black, and Horus's grin widened still further. _Finally._

"So now we're gonna have an actual fight? Ooh, are you gonna break out the tails? Or whatever you used on your captain?"

"No."

"Aww, I wanted a good fight."

"You'll get one, Horus. But I have some pride. I said I was going to finish this without resorting to that, and so I will. Even if I lose."

Horus nodded. "I get it, I get it. Hold up."

The Blackstaff slammed into one of the walls of the fighting pit, embedding itself there easily. Horus grinned. "Now we're gonna be even. Let's go."

"Let's."

The Butcher Bird blurred forwards, almost faster than thought, and Horus launched himself right at him, laughing all the while.

* * *

A week ago, or even yesterday, Vinci would not have been able to follow this fight.

" _It's a grudge match! I can't even see the blows, they're moving so fast!"_

Well, _he_ could, and it was...exhilarating. The benefits of continual biological upgrades.

Kaneki had recovered his center, and was unleashing hell on Horus, who was giving as good as he got. Kaneki's fighting style was a kludge - boxing techniques here, kicks from Muay Thai there, interspersed with Six Powers attacks and what Vinci was pretty sure was straight-up street brawling - but it was a _workable_ kludge, and it was letting him hold his own. The difference was palpable.

Honestly, it might've been Vinci's own fault. He'd instructed Kaneki to fight without tails, trying to make a point when Kaneki demolished Horus...he hadn't expected Horus to use _Armament_ , of all things! Troublesome…

And then there was the fact that Kaneki simply _wasn't_ a knife-fighter. He was adequate at best, and against an opponent of such surprising strength that hadn't been enough to counter. But with bare fists…

Kaneki ducked under a straight punch, grabbed Horus's outstretched arm, and used it as a vault to swing himself into the air, spinning around and coming back down with a Tempest Kick. Horus dodged the air blade, answered with a knee to the chin as Kaneki hit the ground, and the fight continued, the two slugging it out without either budging an inch.

With bare fists, Kaneki had the advantage in experience and raw strength, and Horus, despite his Armament, was a brawler rather than an artist in bare-handed combat, unable to counter effectively without his staff. He really shouldn't have tossed it aside.

"Hey, shouldn't your friend be healing by now?" Smoker observed. "Is he _still_ holding back?"

"Hardly," Vinci explained, steepling his fingers. "Kaneki can't turn off his healing factor. But it _can_ be overcome. All you need to do is use Armament Haki."

"...the way you said that implies I should know what the hell that is."

"Short version, intensify your will to attack, or your will to not be harmed, so much it actually has physical effects in the real world."

Smoker glared at him. "You're messing with me."

"Hardly. Go ask your commander about Haki tomorrow. It also lets you negate Logia powers."

"Bullshit."

"Not really. It's working, isn't it?"

Horus slugged Kaneki in the gut, and Kaneki turned, robbing the blow of momentum and using it to send a high kick into his opponent's face.

"How are you even able to tell he's using it?"

Vinci sighed, and looked at Smoker, willing his eyes to turn gold as he tapped the skin underneath one. "My eyes are bullshit," he explained shortly. "They can make out just about anything. Still can't quite figure out _how_ he's using it, but that's a project for further observation."

Down in the sands, the two fighters broke apart as each of them threw a punch at the same moment, the backlash as their fists collided sending each of them reeling. Each of them paused, panting.

And then Horus's torso exploded with blood, the young man falling to one knee.

" _WHAAAAT?! The King is down on his knees...but the Butcher Bird hadn't even touched him! What is this?!"_

Kaneki cracked his knuckles. Blood dripped from his hands, some of it staining the hem of his coat a dark red.

"Ah, shit," Horus rumbled, putting a hand to his chest, now criss-crossed with gashes...all of them in sets of four. "Shoulda known you were trying something when your punches slid rather than hitting. I thought you could only cut with your legs...but you used your knuckles, didn't you?"

Kaneki shrugged. "Damn straight, brat."

"Hell, what're your bones made of?"

"Seastone, actually."

"Sheshesheshe...you're a scary dude, alright. Didn't expect you to be so at home with martial arts," Horus admitted with a grin.

"Whether your body is human, superhuman, fishman, or ghoul, the art of turning men into ghosts with your hands and feet remains the same. That's what Arima Zoss taught me," Kaneki said calmly. "Are you going to keep fighting?"

"Eh, wait for it."

"Wait for-" Kaneki stopped, and began coughing, before falling to his knees, wrenching his mask down, and vomiting a surprising amount of blood onto the arena sands.

"Was wondering when that liver shot was gonna kick in," Horus admitted with a grin.

"Hrrk...that fucking _hurt_ ," Kaneki growled. "O- _kay_ then," he continued, getting back to his feet, as Horus did the same. "You're a tougher customer than I gave you credit for."

The ghoul's breathing slowed, attaining a set rhythm. "I'm not really cut out for using this particular style," he admitted. "Never had the chance to learn it properly. But the breathing's still enough to improve my strikes. You want to finish this? Survive _Ki Rata._ "

Horus bared his teeth. "ALRIGHT!" he shouted, crouching slightly. "Here I come, Butcher Bird! I might not have a martial art, but who gives a shit? I'm still a fighter, and I'm gonna hit you hard as I can!"

" _The fighters are gearing up for one last attack!"_

Vinci leaned on the rail, watching Kaneki as he breathed in and out. The ghoul's eyes were shut, but he was unmasked, and Vinci could see his lips move.

 _So it's that simple?_ he saw the ghoul mutter. _Then let's try it. Together._

Horus launched himself forwards, fist cocked back to land a devastating blow. " _Fist of the Southern Cross!"_

Kaneki opened his eyes.

They weren't red on black, or blue on white. Instead, they seemed to blaze with fire, slit pupils standing out sharply.

 _"Concordance,"_ he growled. " _Agreement. Dragon Claw and Human Fist: Two Point Strike."_

Even with Vinci's improvements, he didn't see the blow land. One moment Horus was almost on his first mate, grinning like a madman as Kaneki simply stood there, and the next….

 _THOOM._

Horus was embedded in the wall of the arena, and Kaneki stood with his body parallel to a smoking line burned into the ground, legs bent for balance and a single smoking fist held out sharply. The ghoul gave a long exhale, then grimaced - and as the smoke stopped coming from his fist, Vinci realized that all the flesh had been blasted off his knuckles, grey-black bone visible for a few seconds before his healing factor began to cover them in flesh again.

" _I…"_ the announcer began. " _I don't believe it! The King's been knocked down!"_ She ran to the crater in the wall. " _Akira Horus? Horus? Can you continue?"_

No response.

" _Horus has been knocked out…"_ the announcer began, raising an arm. " _The winner of this fight is-"_

She stopped dead, as Horus's hand whipped out, grabbing her wrist. The man's eyes seemed to glow as he pulled himself out of the crater. He was covered in blood and lacerations, and he moved gingerly as only a man with monstrous internal injuries did, but he seemed more vibrant than ever.

"Oi, Butcher!" the man shouted, letting go of the announcer. "Let's get a drink after this, okay?"

"...sure, you crazy bastard," Kaneki said, smiling slightly.

"Cool! I'm gonna pass out now," Horus said, smiling widely, before falling flat on his back with a thud.

" _Okay...he's_ actually _unconscious now...so the winner is Yoshimura Kaneki, the Butcher Bird! Breaking the undefeated streak in his debut!"_

"So that's the kind of power your first mate has," Smoker growled. "Surprising. He didn't show that against me."

Vinci grinned. "I think he enjoys messing with you more."

"Hrmph. What do you want, Alley Doc? Someone like you doesn't come here for the hell of it. And before you say it, we're not friends."

"Aw, and here I was being hopeful. Ah, well…" He paused. "It's simple. Horus isn't going to be fit for a fight for a while, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, so?"

" _So,_ you need someone to sub in for keeping an eye on you when you go to Emory, don't you? Because Marine regulations on the security for the medical shipments mandates a certain rank, or someone strong enough, in sufficient numbers...and you're short, without him along."

"No. Hell no. You are _not_ going to Emory, Alley Doc," Smoker snarled. "I don't know why you think I'd even _consider_ letting you near that place. Or why you think the Rear Admiral would, either."

"Didn't mean me. Meant him," Vinci said, pointing towards where Kaneki was walking into the tunnel, Six, C, and the Oni melting out of the shadows to follow him. "Search him before and after if you want, whatever you feel is necessary, don't really care. I don't want a sample of whatever the hell is going on in Arlen, anyway. Plagues aren't my business."

Smoker ground his teeth. "Why, then?" he finally said. "What do you want? What do you gain?"

"What do I want? I want to _help_ ," Vinci said, staring into Smoker's eyes. "And if I can demonstrate that my crew is trustworthy, that _I_ am trustworthy, I _get_ that help. I'll never like the Marines, but right now the World Government alone has the resources for what I want to do."

"And that is?"

Vinci grinned. "What do you think? I want to cure death."

Smoker stared at him for several moments. "You're not lying," he said.

"Of course not. What could I possibly stand to gain?"

"Hmph." Smoker exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Fine. I'll let the Rear Admiral know that I'm not entirely opposed to your first mate and whoever he wants to drag along coming with, provided we take security precautions. That's all. I'm not going to try to convince him otherwise if he doesn't want pirates coming along."

"That's all I ask," Vinci said.

Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't already been to Emory. Being able to go wherever he liked, whenever he liked, without being spotted, had already paid a lot of dividends, including a case of samples awaiting analysis in the sealed labs of _Ends Justified_. But convincing his minders that he _hadn't_ been there and was angling to get samples by proxy...well, that was just icing on the paranoia cake for those who wouldn't believe him having any benevolent intentions.


	81. Chapter 100

"Oi, ginger, budge over."

C ignored the irritating little man, and focused on his drink. It was a lot easier to find good coffee on this island. Maybe they liked warm drinks.

"Did you hear me, you red-haired shit? Gimme your chair, me an' my friends want a seat." Out came a knife, thudding into the cheap table.

C did not look at the irritating man. He did, however, reach out. Not with his hands, but with his powers. He felt the nodes near his neck shiver as he grabbed ahold of the thin metal chain around the irritating man's neck, and yanked it towards the wall. The irritating man hit the tavern wall, clawing at his throat as his necklace cut off air.

C took a sip of his coffee, ignoring the choking noises. It was really good coffee. Tasted better without irritating noises, too.

The irritating man's struggles eventually ceased. C cocked his head, debating whether he should eat the man's body. Nah. Probably wouldn't taste good. Also, Jack would get upset.

The door to the small tavern opened, and Lauren strode in. She didn't even look at the irritating man's body. "Heya, kid," she said. "Come on, we've got shit to do."

C tossed a couple of bills onto the table, stood, and followed her. Lauren always had interesting ideas. Worth braving the cold.

He hugged his huge fur coat closer to himself regardless. He still didn't like the cold. The coat was warmer than when he'd first gotten it, because he and the Wolves had gone hunting the regular wolves and bears on Arlen's mountains and gotten even more fur for it, but it still wasn't enough to really stop the cold from getting in.

No matter that Brother went around in a smaller coat, and everyone else basically ignored the cold as they felt fit. C still felt it was too cold.

"Hey, kid, what was with the dead idiot on the floor?"

"He pulled a knife," C replied flatly. "I was in fear of my life."

"Really, now."

"He also smelled like poo."

"Not a good reason to kill someone."

C shrugged. "He picked a fight."

"Hmph. Lucky this is a shit part of town, brat. Or you'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Mm-hm."

Lauren smacked his shoulder. "Quit doing stupid shit, C. Killing people who aren't a threat isn't a good thing."

"But why?"

"Because people who can hand you your ass on a platter tend to have a little thing like morals. Including me. So knock it off."

C considered. "Okay," he said. "What are you planning to do?"

"Want you to figure out how the hell that Marine brat is pulling off trick shots like he is." Lauren shrugged. "It doesn't make sense, and I wanna see if you can make anything out of it."

C cocked his head. "You want to copy him."

"Also true. Might be able to make some ammunition that works really well for that if I know how he's doing it."

C shrugged. "I'll help. Still don't like him, though. He smiles too much."

"It's called being polite, kid, you might try it sometime."

"Why would I do that? Everyone who I would have to try that with puts up with worse. Brother says worse half the time."

"Your brother's a dramatic prima donna, you really shouldn't use him as an example."

"Too late. I'm gonna start quoting philosophers."

"No, that's the Captain's job."

C pouted. "I don't want to be the Captain."

"Don't blame you, he's just another shade of crazy entirely."

"I think we're all crazy. If Six is right." Six was...increasingly tolerable. Brother liked him, anyway, if the increasing levels of physical contact between the two meant anything. C frowned. He liked his space, he wasn't sure why people like Brother were all...touchy-feely. Blergh.

"What'd he say?"

"Something about having read a few psychology textbooks and finding out that everyone on the crew has at least one disorder. Meh."

"I don't think everyone on the crew is crazy, C."

"Well, just the main characters, then."

"You've been reading Pratchett again, haven't you? This isn't a novel, C. Everyone on the crew's a person."

C clicked his tongue. "Maybe. But they can't do anything. So does it matter?"

Lauren punched him in the shoulder. "Yes it does, you little jerk. God, you're being freaky today. Don't tell me you're hitting ghoul puberty or something."

C shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno."

"Ugh. I don't want to have to deal with -" Lauren froze, hands going to her holstered pistols, and C glanced down the road. Oh. It was T-Bone. Sure, he had his visor down, but nobody else really smelled like that.

Lauren, though, smelled like _fear_ for a moment, before it was buried by anger. She grit her teeth, and continued walking, but Sir Sirloin stepped to bar their path.

C idly considered using the armor the man wore as a way to crush his spine and skull. But no, Lauren would probably get mad. And Brother too, eventually. The Captain hated Tenderloin, though, so he wouldn't have to worry about that.

"-intentions about my subordinate," Ribeye finished saying, and oops he hadn't been paying attention.

"Ain't none of your fucking business, is it, knight?" Lauren growled. "How about you quit sticking your nose where you aren't wanted?"

Huh. Maybe Lauren _wouldn't_ mind if he killed Flank-steak.

"It _is_ my business when a pirate and criminal wants to fraternize with one of those under my charge, child."

Lauren's lips skinned back from her teeth. " _Don't_ call me that."

"I looked into your past. You _are_ a child. Seventeen years old, and you've already killed more than most people do in their entire lives. Grigori has a penchant for ruining the innocent, doesn't he? But I _will not_ let you corrupt my subordinates."

Lauren laughed. "Oh, so you're just like the assholes who tried to kill my home. Good to know."

"I am nothing like-"

"No, no, you are. Black and white, right and wrong, that's how everything is for you, isn't it? You can't even figure out that a _pirate_ might not have nefarious intentions. But I don't give a shit about you. So fuck right off, you overarmored piece of shit."

"You do-"

Okay, Lauren wouldn't care. C reached out and grabbed all of the metal on Baby Back Ribs's body. He stopped talking.

"You," C said quietly, "are very annoying. And you're making Lauren upset. Please stop. Or I will crush your skull and turn your brain into mush."

There. He could be polite.

Lauren sighed. "Let him go, C. There isn't any point to this."

C sighed, but did so. Mignon glared at him. C glared back, because he had scarier eyes than Rump Roast did.

"This isn't over," Brisket promised.

"I think it is," Lauren said quietly. "Come on, C. We've got places to be."

* * *

Kaneki, Six had long since realized, had a propensity for tunnel vision. Near-mad focus on whatever his current task was, followed by just as energetically focusing on a brand-new job whenever the previous was completed. It was...unusual. Perhaps learned from the Captain, who had a similar propensity for fugue states. Or perhaps an artifact of his mental state, which did not match any psychological disorders that Six knew of and yet was clearly not that of a mentally balanced human or ghoul (granted, the opposing case for a 'stable' ghoul mentality was C, and C was...C.).

Regardless, his ability to compartmentalize and focus was by turns admirable and...frustrating, ever so slightly. It made it difficult for Six to determine what Kaneki...wanted. He hadn't _left_ , at the very least, and had not tried to push Six away at all - far from it, he relaxed more and more - but he'd thrown himself into his work for the past few days, either frantically training or engaging in any one of a dozen tasks the crew needed done, from vetting the new recruits to hauling supplies to hunting down the prodigious quantities of protein the Wolves required. Six had gotten a glimpse past the walls Kaneki put up, that night, but they'd come back up right afterwards as Kaneki put himself back to work.

Six was self-aware enough to realize he was thinking about this topic to avoid a minor panic attack over their surroundings - namely, Port Roybal's local hospital. That, too, was...not a rational response. The environment was nothing like that of the _Theseus_ \- it was well-lit, clean, and not filled with reanimated corpses - but it raised his metaphorical hackles all the same.

Perhaps it was the lingering smell of death and disease, lurking under the stink of antiseptics.

Give him a kitchen any day.

Six followed in Kaneki's footsteps, and kept his eyes fixed ahead. After a moment, Kaneki slowed his pace, and glanced over his shoulder. Six huffed. He still worried.

Kaneki gave him a wry smile, and returned to his usual pace.

Six did not see why he was worried. It was not as though the person they were going to visit was a threat. Not in the sense of possibility, and not in the sense of intent, either.

Kaneki turned a corner, walked about halfway down the hallway, and knocked on one of the doors.

"Come in!" a dynamic voice called. Six followed Kaneki into the room.

Akira Horus had seen better days, that much was certain. The huge man was practically wrapped in casts, with both legs and arms suspended from the ceiling by hoists. Still, he was grinning like a maniac nevertheless.

"And here I thought you were gonna walk it off," Kaneki noted acerbically.

"Ah, well, they're all a bunch of pansies here," Horus replied. "'What do you mean you walked here with multiple leg fractures', they say," he noted in a high-pitched tone. "Babies." He gave Kaneki a D-shaped smile. "Still, I guess you're here for a drink? Might be kinda difficult, shehehehe..."

"I have a beer and a bendy straw, that work?"

"Eh, better than nothing. What about you?"  
"Coffee or water are my only choices, really. Part and parcel of being a ghoul."

"Well that sucks."

"Tell me about it. I'd kill to be able to taste fruit juice properly." Kaneki held up the beer, a festively contorted straw jutting from the open neck.

"Who's your friend?" Horus asked, after taking a sip from the beer. "Saw him at the fight, but never got the chance to ask."

"Oh, this is Six. Horus, Six, Six, idiot who's too fight-happy for his own good."

"Hello, idiot," Six said, perfectly politely. Horus laughed.

"He's got a mouth on him, doesn't he?" the big man noted happily. "I like him already."

Six cocked his head slightly. "You appear to like most people, Gladiator."

"Eheh, is that what you're calling me? I heard about your little nickname system."

"It fits. For now."

Horus made a motion that might've been a shrug -it was hard to tell, with all the casts. "I guess so. I _do_ like fighting."

"Anything else?"

"What, you trying to figure me out?"

"Well, I'm fifty-fifty on asking you to join the crew. You're crazy enough."

"Shehehehe...sorry, no can do. Got my job, and I like it." Horus's grin widened. "Still, two men shouldn't bond in this kind of place!"

Horus grunted, a vein standing out on his forehead, and the casts lining his body disintegrated into a cloud of plaster. "Right!" the black-haired man shouted, leaping to his feet and grabbing Kaneki by the collar. "To the bar!"

There was a deafening crash.

Six blinked, looking at the hole in the wall where the window used to be.

Huh.

Well, it was not necessarily his problem.

" _I was gone for ten minutes!"_

Six turned, and beheld a sobbing orderly standing in the doorframe. What was the traditional means of comfort? Oh, yes.

"There, there," he said neutrally, patting the highly upset man on the back, before moving past him. He did not intend to go outside, since Kaneki was obviously otherwise engaged and thus unable to protect him from the cold.

He would see what the kitchens were like. Surely he could improve upon hospital food.

* * *

Vinci hummed to himself as he worked, extracting a syringe from the mass of flesh laying in its sealed tube. The syringe, filled to the brim with vibrant red blood, went under the magnifier, and Vinci peered at the contents. No signs of degradation, normal cells integrating with the variants...his hunch about utilizing Kaneki's cells in combination with the flesh of a Sea King had been correct...albeit after a great deal of fine-tuning to prevent, heh, 'explosive' results. Still, a success was a success.

Now to test it.

Vinci pressed down on the syringe's plunger, pouring the crimson fluid into a large test tube. He picked the vial up, corked it, and _stepped_ -

-out into a city street. Huh. He would have figured Kaneki was still at the hospital...no, wait, he had been planning to visit Akira Horus, a man of incredible constitution. In all likelihood said man would've already left. And given Akira Horus being, well, the absolute mad lad that he was, the most likely location for them would be…

Vinci strode into the nearest bar with a confident grin that sent patrons scurrying for cover, and approached the table where the two men were sitting - Horus with a tankard of beer, and Kaneki with a mug of what was probably espresso. The ghoul was tapping his fingers on the table in the rapid patterns he always adopted when sufficiently caffeinated. 'Sufficiently' being in this case enough to strain even Vinci's latest toxin-processing upgrades. The two fell silent as he approached, Horus with a smile, Kaneki with a blank, awaiting expression that Vinci would swear he'd seen on Six's face a time or two. Vinci tossed Kaneki the vial. "Drink."

Kaneki raised an eyebrow, but did as Vinci had asked, popping the cork out of the vial and downing the blood in one gulp. He stared at the empty vial for a moment, and then, slowly, smiled, a shark's smile, all razor-sharp teeth. "It...works," he said, wonderingly. For the briefest of moments, Vinci got a glimpse past the mask and the walls, and saw hope, the same hope he'd seen when Kaneki had found Sea Kings to be a food source. "It finally fucking works."

"Uh...what, exactly, works? Was that blood?" Horus asked. "Wait…" The big man paused, then grinned. "So that's what you meant when you said your captain was trying to help you out. Artificial blood."

"And flesh, too, but the blood carries the important pieces," Vinci observed idly. "Finally got the right balance of factors, and it tastes like the real thing."

"So no more needing to eat people, right?"  
"No," Kaneki said quietly, setting the vial down. "Not any more." He looked to Vinci, eyes red on black. "Bargain was made and struck, and you've held up your end. What do you want, captain?"

Vinci smiled a smile that made the one Kaneki had shown him look like that of an innocent babe. "It's not finished. Not quite yet. A substitute...but that was half of what I swore to give you. And I think that with the tools at my disposal, I can compensate for what you are, and deliver the other half."

"You're talking in riddles, captain."

Vinci leaned forwards. "Augments, Kaneki. For humans only, because that was the only base I could work with...but working from scratch again...well, it could be done. Tell me: what do you think of the name _homo sapiens venator?_ Or, if you want to use a colloquial term...what do you think of me making Oni?"

Kaneki threw back the remnants of his coffee. "I think that once I finish my work today, I've got a long time as a guinea pig ahead, Captain."

"Uh, hey, quick question," Horus asked. Vinci transferred his attention to the large man, who grinned shyly. "What's your policy on people not on your crew getting those Augment things? Because that sounds like fun. Heck, your Wolves are pretty good in a brawl, and can hold their drink better than me too. I bet if I got the same stuff they did, it'd be even more awesome."

Vinci considered, cocking his head to the side. "My dear fellow," he said lightly. "You wound me. As if I'd use something mass-produced on an individual like you. No...you need something... _grander._ Something I would not see anyone else surviving…"

"Is that a yes? A no?"

"We'll see."

Vinci _dropped_ , and landed back in the swivel chair in his lab, before chuckling to himself.

Time to take a look at those disease samples. Wouldn't do to let Kaneki go in there without some idea of what he might have to watch out for.

And between Kaneki's journey and this friendship with Horus...the only ones opposed to him were his cousin, T-Bone, and the Rear Admiral. And the latter two...well, he could circumvent them easily enough. He just needed time.

* * *

The prisoner had known the verdict that would come. It had been, in every sense of the word, inevitable. A wandering exile comes to town, someone who wasn't quite what these open-sky people knew, and then to be near the scene of a murder...of course.

The prisoner sighed, closing the eyes that, as much as anything else, had damned him. The slitted pupils and crimson cast to them were not that common among the children of the earth, but his line had kept to the old blood longer than most, not intermingling at all with outsiders until very recently indeed. The Demon Tribe's markings were strong in him...and that had been enough for this kangaroo court to declare him guilty, when a Kure Raijin had vanished and left only bloody scraps of meat in his place.

 _Your kind has no place here but the grave_ , the magistrate had said. _You possess not even a soul to save, demon._

That voice, more than anything, hurt old wounds. Oh, they had not beaten him, which was a surprise...but the scars on his back, where his own family had cut his wings away, had burned all the same, the tone of a condemning voice dispensing judgement it had no right to give eating at him.

The prisoner opened his eyes as footsteps sounded on the floors of the gaol. These weren't the heavy boots of the guards. Four of them, two heavy treads, two lighter. The gaol was too gloomy to make out much more than the area immediately in front of his cell, but the footsteps were drawing closer. And so were the voices that accompanied them.

"-surprised you actually treated someone. Got a spot of empathy for the locals?" This voice was low and rumbling, ever-so-slightly off-key from a baseline human tone, even as it adopted a teasing edge.

"Hardly," a human voice replied, cold and clinical and nasally pitched. "Even you should know, Butcher, of the value of good relations with locals. Assisting the mayor's wife with her child was that, nothing more."

"Or maybe you're actually a decent guy, under all the creepy doctor stuff," another human replied, a cheerful baritone. "Maybe I should get you to hang out with some of my friends."

"My research demands otherwise."

"Ah, don't be like that," the baritone complained.

"He will," a fourth voice noted softly. "But it still got us inside."

"...I coulda taken the guards if they started something," the nonhuman noted.

"Yes, we understand your capacity for violence remains undiminished. You're getting first crack at him. But you still haven't explained why you want him."

"Personal fucking reasons, discount captain."

Despite himself, the prisoner chuckled. It seemed he had interesting visitors.

The footsteps drew closer, and one by one, their owners drew into the faint light of the torches. One was a near-giant of a man, bristling black hair nearly touching the low ceiling. The huge man sat on a bench in the shadows, and gave the prisoner a friendly grin. Another was a thin, almost skeletal person, clad in a white hoodie, who hovered close at the shoulder of the third man, a solidly built fellow in a Marine officer's coat - no, not quite, the epaulettes were a dark red, not golden, and at the hem twisting red patterns were barely visible, dyed into the white fabric. The third man smiled, and pulled out an ornate pipe with a bowl like a claw, sticking it into the corner of his mouth.

The fourth, a wiry, short-statured man with long black hair framing round wire-framed glasses, merely stood there with his hands linked inside the sleeves of his lab coat, smiling coldly.

The third man lit his pipe. "Well, ain't you a sorry sight," he said, not unkindly.

"I think I'm managing," the prisoner replied, scratching at his full beard. Black, like the hair that cascaded halfway down his back, it itched quite a bit. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man blinked. "Where're you from?"

"That's none of your concern."

The man's nose wrinkled. "Demon Tribe, aren't you? Can smell it off you. Explains a bit. I'm Yoshimura Kaneki, First Mate of the Nightmare Pirates."

"Ah. A criminal."

"Don't judge unless you know the whole story."

The prisoner scoffed. "And I suppose you're here with an offer? Join your crew, and I'm free?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

The prisoner was silent for a moment. "Why me?"

Yoshimura shrugged. "Maybe I have a soft spot for people who are in the wrong place at the wrong time." He tilted his head to the side, and his eyes flared red on black. "Used to being called a monster. For better reasons than you, mind, but still," he said softly. "Still. Think on it."

The prisoner narrowed his eyes. "And what do the others want?"

"Six and Horus are with me," Yoshimura said, nodding in the general direction of the big man and the one in the hoodie. "But Viktor here apparently also has an offer to make. Might be you'll take him, instead."

Yoshimura rose, and backed away, letting the smaller man approach.

Viktor's glasses gleamed in the torchlight as he sat crosslegged in front of the cell. He looked at the prisoner, eyes calculating. "I cannot commute your sentence," he began.

"If that's your attempt at an offer, you need to work on your negotiating skills," the prisoner replied.

"Let me finish," Viktor said testily. "I'm aware of what your fate is. Hung by the neck, until dead. I'm a scientist, not a member of a Warlord's crew...I do not have the kind of authority to see you pardoned. But…"

"But?"

Viktor did not answer. Instead, he pulled his hands out of his sleeves, and opened them to reveal a mouse. The tiny creature looked around, nose twitching. "Life is precious," he said. "But fragile. Easily removed." Viktor's fingers closed around the mouse's neck, and a tiny crack echoed. He dropped the small body to the cobblestone. "And gone. But not...necessarily."

Viktor held a hand over the corpse. " _Cantatio,"_ he intoned. The corpse twitched. Once. Twice. Then, unsteadily, it staggered to its feet as its neck healed with another tiny crack. The mouse scurried through the bars, and ran past the prisoner, squeezing between two cracks in the stone and vanishing.

"A Devil Fruit," Viktor said, "can change a great many things. And that is what I offer. They will hang you until you're dead...but it is not a necessity that you stay that way."

The prisoner breathed out, and glanced at the other three men. The one in the hoodie stood frozen, the big man's eyebrows were furrowed in concern...and the demon, the _Jī'è de móguǐ_ , with eyes of crimson and black just as the old tales had said...stood with teeth bared and tendons standing out like cords in its neck, fury on every line of its face.

The prisoner knew, then, what decision to make.


	82. Chapter 101

As they walked out of the prison, Viktor kept a close eye on the Butcher Bird. The man was clearly, openly furious with him. Was it because he'd made a better case, and the prisoner had chosen to take a chance with him rather than sign on with a crew of ill repute? Was it some ludicrous religious sentiment about the sanctity of the human soul? Regardless, he was wary about the man flying into a rage, and watched out of the corner of his eye.

As a result, he was utterly unprepared when Six grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the prison wall. The stone wall cracked, but none of the force of the blow was directed into Viktor's fragile trachea. This was a display of intimidation, then, carefully calculated. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, looking the cook in the eyes. The man's face was entirely blank, blue eyes flat and empty.

"Where," Six asked, in a soft, inquisitive tone, "did you get that Devil Fruit?"

"I don't see why I have to tell-"

Six's fingers vibrated, and pain shivered down Viktor's spine. Ah. The cook knew about nerve clusters, and how to stimulate them. Wonderful.

"Where."

"My lab," Viktor admitted through gritted teeth. "The Vita-Vita Fruit transfers to only the Atonovka breed of apple, which only grows in the South Blue. I've been maintaining a stockpile in the hopes that the previous wielder would die on the Grand Line, and my tree would be the closest usable host for the Fruit."

Six's expression did not change at all. "You intend to use it to make servants." The pressure on Viktor's neck intensified. "To make slaves. To break them to you."

"No," Viktor said simply. "No, that is not what I intend."

Something in those empty blue eyes hardened, for the briefest instant. Then the iron grip on his throat vanished, and Six stepped back. Viktor locked his knees - _never_ show weakness, never, never - and restrained the urge to gasp for breath.

"I will be watching you," the cook said with iron certainty. "Very closely." He turned, and walked away, the Butcher Bird falling into step beside him with an unmistakably proud smile on his face. Only when the two had rounded the corner did Viktor heave for breath.

By science, he should have anticipated just what 'weakest member' meant when dealing with a crew like his cousin's.

No matter. He had what he wanted - the guarantee of loyalty. The prisoner - a member of the Demon Tribe, by name of Grundy Elisha - wouldn't need persuasion or threats or chains to keep him in line. Viktor had given him life, and that would be enough.

 _Honestly_ , slavery was just asking for trouble. Unless you could compel absolute adherence by technological means - and that usually destroyed all capacity for independent thought, and thus most of the use - it was an open invitation for an opponent to stab one in the back by releasing the slaves from his control.

"Hey, you okay, Doc?" the chief of security asked.

"Fine," Viktor growled. "I'm...fine." He straightened up. "What on _earth_ is his problem?"

Horus blinked. "He...was on the crew of the last person who had that Devil Fruit, doc. Reason he's got that big chest scar, and apparently a shitload more that you don't see."

"I see." Viktor clenched his teeth. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "I will not hold it against him. This time." After all, the fact he could hold his restraint in the matter over his cousin was far sweeter than any temporary revenge he could have.

Also, he had a strong feeling that attempting to take judicial or physical action against Six would end...poorly.

Viktor let out a breath. "The execution will take place in a few hours. I would appreciate your help transporting the body, afterwards."

"Sure thing." Horus gave him a thumbs-up. "Decent thing you're doing, saving his ass."

Viktor laughed. "Sure. Decent."

"I mean it. Poor bastard doesn't deserve what's about to happen to him, and we can't do a thing about it. They're practically lining up to lynch him because he looks weird." Horus folded his arms. "Sometimes it pisses me off, stuff like this."

Viktor shrugged. "Then do something about it," he said neutrally, humoring the brute. "Complaining is pointless - either you can change it, or you cannot. If you can't...ignore it."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," the huge man said, waving him off. "Fine. At least _you're_ doing something about it, Doc."

* * *

Gin gave his new tonfas a dubious glance. Maybe giving them to the Cogs to 'upgrade' hadn't been his best idea. The weights that'd replaced the cannonballs were a twisting, Escherian nightmare that made his head hurt even more than Jack's bookkeeping could. At least the bosun had finally been satisfied with Gin's work, and let off for a bit.

"Okay, what exactly are these supposed to do?" he asked the two Cogs.

One of them, who to Gin's eternal gratitude was almost completely covered in its red robe, let loose a chittering burst of static. Gin sighed, and gave the other Cog - a young man who didn't have any visible mechanical bits, one of the new recruits - a glance.

"We've improved the airflow and the, uh, I'm not sure how to explain it, but the mechanisms inside _should_ amplify your Devil Fruit's effects."

"Amplify. Hm."

"They're also heavier, like you asked."

Gin nodded, picking the weapons up and noting the increased heft. He probably wouldn't have been able to lift them a few months ago, but the Captain's bullshit wonder drugs and Kaneki's terrifying training regimen had worked miracles.

A pity they hadn't saved others, but there were limits. There always were.

The tonfa spun, slowly at first, but faster and faster, a droning hum filling the air as it was channeled through the heads. He added his power, pushing vibrations into the striking surfaces, and the hum changed pitch, rising and falling in an eerie tune. The Escherian heads blurred, obscured by the effects of his power, and Gin smiled, before slamming one into the concrete testing wall. The wall disintegrated, concrete dust billowing out as it collapsed, and he didn't feel a hint of backlash.

Gin grinned. "Nice work."

Another chittering screech came from the older Cog, while the younger smiled. "Our thanks," the young man said. "It is good to know it works properly."

Gin nodded, looking the kid over. Couldn't have been older than seventeen. "How'd you join?"

There were too many new faces, these days. The crew had nearly tripled in size, wharf rats and gutter scum and every sort who hid in the shadows practically lining up to join until they could count over two hundred people on their crew. Gin didn't like it. They hadn't fought and bled with the Nightmares, hadn't been tempered by war and hardship. He didn't know how they'd hold up under adversity. And that would come, no doubt about it.

"I...well, I was a clockmaker's kid," the brat said. "I like machines, but I'm the third kid. First one got the shop, second one got some money, and I got nothing. But I'll show them, I'll show them _exactly what I'm capable of, because I HAVE SCIENCE ON MY SIDE, KNOW MACHINES BETTER THAN THEY WILL_ _ **AND MY INVENTIONS WILL-**_ "

 _CLANG!_

Gin winced as a metal tentacle whacked the younger man in the back of the head, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The other Cog, to whom the clockwork tentacle belonged, burbled an apologetic string of Morse before hoisting the young man onto one shoulder and skittering away on a pair of stilt-legs.

Gin pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. Then he began fiddling with the hafts of his new tonfas. A few twists and the press of a button later, and the weapons collapsed down into a short hilt and the creepy, eye-hurting weights. He shoved the weapons into the pockets of his coat, and sighed. It'd been a long week. Kaneki had been on edge ever since the town had executed some poor bastard, training relentlessly with anyone willing to try him in a spar and on whatever targets he could turn into rubble.

Honestly, Gin would've been lining up for that spar, eager to test his new weapons, but Kaneki would be leaving shortly for that trip to the quarantined city, and distracting him wouldn't help. Ah, well. Maybe he could rope Jack in, drag the man away from his precious paperwork for a bit. Gin'd been helping him enough the big man could afford to take some time off, after all.

* * *

" _One Point Strike."_

The air _cracks_ under my blow, but the, for lack of a better word, air bullet dissipates before it can travel far. And I can already feel the bruises forming along my fist. Still not as bad as the Two Point strike, but the backlash…

 _Even with my cooperation, you are still uncentered,_ the dragon mutters. _If not for our ability to heal, and our newly unbreakable bones, you would have crippled yourself already. Temporary or not, that is an opening you cannot afford._

"Shut up, I know," I growl, massaging my aching hand. "Why do you think I haven't been practicing it before? I'd shatter everything in my hand before we ate some seastone, and I wasn't listening to you enough to even achieve this much before that."

 _You state what we already know. If we joined fully, though…_

"Can we even do that without expending a lot of energy on staying all dragon-y?"

 _Not for long. Our situation is...unusual. So. Meditation and reflection, to center ourselves?_

"Sounds like a plan," I huff, grabbing a towel off the rack, scrubbing the sweat from my face. _Ends Justified_ doesn't exactly have a gym, but over the past week as the work crews have finished and the ship has become seaworthy I've cleared out a place in the hold to work in secret. Well, not entirely secret, but my tendency to 'accidentally' throw wing shards at any non-Nightmare who lingered too long nearby has made it so they don't try to spy on me when I train anymore.

Alright, as freshened up as I'm gonna get. I'll take a dip in the ocean and change later, right now I want to stop by the kitchens and see if Six has something going on. Training mode off, time to figure out some other stuff.

Still not sure what to... _do_ about that. Still seeing what happens, feeling out what I want. What _he_ wants, too - it's damn near impossible to read facial expressions with him, and scent can only tell me so much.

Urgh, this _really_ isn't my area. Problems I can't beat to death with their own severed limbs should be delegated to Jack or Vinci, in that order. But Vinci's solution would be to lock us into a room together and Jack...fuck, Jack would _Team Mom_ at me.

 _Yes, clearly emotional support is to be avoided at all costs._

Shut up, you.

I'll just see how he's doing. No more. No less. I don't want this to be infatuation or worship, nothing like that.

I ascend the narrow wooden steps two at a time, towel draped over my shoulders. The kitchen's humming, I can already tell - Six really seems to have appreciated the work done there. Either that, or he's been bottling up the urge to cook while the workers have been renovating the place and it's all getting spent at once.

A cloud of steam billows out of the kitchen door as I open it, and I squint, peering through the haze. What is he…

Ah.

Six is working.

People with a taste for flowery bullshit might call what he's doing elegant, a symphony of motion, a dance that he's performing alone.

I'm not that guy. But even I can appreciate the sight as Six cooks enough food for a small army, moving through the kitchen unhurriedly. Not a motion is wasted, every single turn putting him right where he needs to be, heating one dish, seasoning another, placing a third in the oven. His face has the first true expression that I've ever seen on him, a soft, quiet smile that fits just right. It's the kind of smile you rarely see, one of peace and solidity. I can't help but smile back as he works, hearing him hum quietly, a quiet, reassuring tune.

I step away, closing the door silently behind me. He's happy right where he is, right now, and I couldn't bear to disturb that.

Besides, I've got a train to catch, soon enough.

I head for the deck, humming that tune under my breath. Maybe there's a song in it.

* * *

Jack closed the transponder snail connection with a satisfied smile on his face.

Things were going well. The Hunt was drawing in new crews and new recruits, word of their existence and their power spreading out of the Line and into the Blue Seas. Granted, four new crews weren't a lot, and they were definitely Blue Seas rookies, but every man that flew the Hunt's standard (a triskelion, because they needed _some_ identifying mark and the Captain was too busy cooking up abominations of nature to provide one) was one more body willing to raise hell. And one more that'd be more than willing to fight the Marines, when it came down to it. There were a _lot_ of accounts to be settled, for the government dogs, and Jack would be more than happy to close their books for good.

As for the _Ends_...well, the shipwrights had worked faster than ever, it'd be a week or less before she was fully seaworthy again. Seaworthy, and deadlier than any vessel her size on the sea. Lauren was practically salivating over the chance to put its new guns to use, and Jack had a feeling she'd have more than enough chances once they made their move.

And then there was the work Kaneki had been doing to dig a path to that bunker under the Center...wouldn't be long now before they hit it, and then...well, the Captain had plans within plans within plans, and Jack'd help make them real no matter what Vinci decided.

Speaking of…

He stood, stretching slightly and cracking his back. Time to get to work. He picked up a black canvas bag he kept next to his desk, before leaving the tiny, completely soundproofed office. The rest of the largely-abandoned warehouse stretched out before him, only a few crates of cargo disturbing the empty expanse. Well, a few crates of cargo, and a naked Marine tied to a chair, a large canvas tarp spread out under the furniture. Jack gave the Fae watching the man a nod, and the shapeshifter held up a vial of blood. Good. They'd be able to use this man's identity, later. Not for very long, under the circumstances...but long enough.

Jack picked up the small collapsible table leaned against a nearby support beam, and unfolded it, placing the bag on top with a thump. The Marine, blindfolded but still conscious, flinched - Jack had moved completely silently, and that was the first noise he heard beyond ambient noise inside the warehouse. _Outside_ , nothing could be heard - mostly because the warehouse, like the office inside it, was also soundproofed. A precaution for times like this.

Jack didn't say a word, only opening the bag. One by one, gleaming metal tools were extracted, inspected, and laid down on the table with quiet, precise clinking noises. With each one, the Marine twitched.

Jack did not smile.

Finally, after the last tool - a hacksaw - was laid down, he folded his hands over his tunic, and spoke. "Master Chief Petty Officer Daudur Dropi," he stated calmly. "Age: Thirty-six. Divorced amicably, two children, still sends a large portion of his paycheck back home to fund their education. Currently serving under Captain T-Bone of the Marine Interservices Liason Department, have for the past two years, earning promotion to CPO and current rank, the former due to displayed valor, the latter a brevet rank later confirmed by the Captain after the Black Coral Campaign. Recommended for commissioning as Ensign by Captain T-Bone, status pending. Considered a personal confidant of the Captain."

"Whatever you want, I won't talk," the Marine snarled. "They'll find me. They'll find _you_ , you stupid bastard."

"You were last seen highly intoxicated, leaving in the company of a dockside whore," Jack explained calmly. "Believe me when I say that nobody is looking for you right now."

"Fuck you!"

Jack tsked. "I assume you're going to make things difficult."

"You're goddamn right, you piece of shit. I don't know who the hell you are, but once I get out of here-"

"Very well." Jack picked up one of his tools. "We'll see if you're more cooperative shortly."

* * *

"He's gonna be late," Tashigi grumbled.

Herman shrugged. "It's Kaneki. He's just waiting for the opportunity to make a dramatic entrance and put the fear of God into your Marines."

Tashigi gave him an incredulous look, before sighing as reality sank in. "He would, wouldn't he?"

Herman smiled. Finally, she was getting it. "In three, two, one…"

Right on cue, someone started playing a guitar, the distant tune rippling through the air and causing the assembled Marines and security personnel to look around in confusion.

" _When you're burdened and soul-shaken_

 _And remorse hangs iron-laden_

' _Round your shoulders, grown misshapen…"_

Kaneki's voice came from the roof, but when Herman glanced there, there wasn't anyone around.

" _When you dared, where battle lines were drawn_

 _Boldly crossed that Rubicon_

 _And searched, but all the stars were gone…"_

Down the field, and again, not there. Herman grunted. Of course he was fucking with them.

" _And the blessed days left you behind_

 _To a requiem and life combined_

 _To live half-in half-out of time…"_

Tashigi's knuckles were going white on her sword's hilt.

" _And in that time, ticking fitfully,_

 _You purchased your complicity_

 _In blood and in iniquity..."_

Smoker ground his teeth, arms folded.

" _When shattered and in grief besot_

 _That late uncertain spectre caught_

 _You in raveling, unresting thought…"_

Marines whirled as the voice shifted location again, seeming to come from among their ranks.

" _And when the threads of life retrace_

 _A rending tale, a fall from grace_

 _How the monster - piecemeal - took your place…"_

And _now_ Kaneki was visible, suddenly standing stark against the field of snow as he walked towards the train depot, hands in his pockets and _still_ singing.

" _When you could swear you scarce exist_

 _But art or_ _ **artifice**_ _insists_

 _The show goes on in spite of this…_

 _When you're desolate and all alone_

 _And desperately far from home_

 _When the cold has bitten to the bone..._

 _Come rest these bones where spirits be_

 _In lack-a-day fraternity_

 _For_ _ **misery loves company.**_ "

Kaneki strolled up to Herman, grinning all the while, as the last notes of the tune faded away. "Whaddya think?"

Herman flicked a finger against the ghoul's forehead, sending the smaller man into the snow - a deliberate fall, that blow hadn't had enough force to stagger him for real. "Quit fucking around. We've got work to do."

"Yeah, yeah," Kaneki grumbled, jumping back to his feet. "Right! Let's get this show on the road, hey? And stop using your knockoff Six Powers on me."

Herman growled. "Stop calling them that. I'll use my own damn style, doesn't matter if I steal some techniques to add to it."

"Oh? So what's the point of Shepherd Style? It's all just shouting and hitting things with bits of iron from where I'm standing."

"You're dead wrong. The whole _point_ of my style is so I'm not just doing that."

"Really, now."

"Really," Herman growled. "People don't stop being vulnerable to punches, throws, and holds just because they've got a weapon on them. Might as well be able to fight unarmed as well as armed."

Kaneki cocked his head, then shrugged. "Fair enough."

"LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS!" Smoker barked suddenly, drawing the attention of all present. "For those of you who haven't been listening or were off getting drunk instead of attending the briefing, let's go over this one more time. Emory's a closed city, this rail line-" he gestured at the tracks and the depot "-is the only way in or out. Why? Because there's a plague infesting the city. Doesn't travel easily, not beyond the walls at least, but every man, woman, and child in there has it. The eggheads in the Center have some name for it, but everyone else just calls it Reaver Syndrome. Turns normal, everyday people into frothing lunatics. Stronger than a hundred men, immune to pain, and totally intent on killing as many as they can. The medical shipments we're escorting contain the drugs that keep the disease in remission. We're going to distribute it at our stop in the city, under guard. Marines, your job is simple. Keep an eye out for anyone acting suspicious, exhibiting signs of aggression, or anything else that means they might be about to relapse. Self-harm, muttering, twitching, anything like that. Follow the directions of CDRP security, they're old hands at this. And if someone does relapse, call me, the Ensign, or the two Nightmares, we'll handle the situation. Don't try to be heroes. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain!" the Marines shouted.

"Good," Smoker growled. "Let's get this over with."


	83. Chapter 102

Smoker had never been on a train before in his life. The East Blue didn't have a lot of islands large enough to require one.

Once, he decided, was _more_ than enough.

The train was cramped, thanks to the entire company of Marines and twice as many security personnel crammed into it. It was noisy, it reeked - he wasn't sure what they were burning to fuel the train, but it sure as hell stank - and quite frankly, it was a hell he was grateful he'd managed to get out of at the first opportunity, leaning on one of the catwalks in-between the train cars.

If only he'd been able to avoid the company - namely, the Butcher Bird and Herman. Well. At least Tashigi was with him. She'd keep Herman in line, leaving the Butcher for him.

"No offense, Commodore, but your men stink," the Hound growled. "How do you stand it?"

"Herman, take a minute to realize that not everyone is cursed with a sensitive nose," the Butcher Bird snarked from his perch atop the train car. The man's bloodstained coat billowed in the wind, somehow still firmly attached to his shoulders despite the fact his arms weren't in the sleeves.

"Do you ever wash that damn thing?" Smoker asked.

"Nah. First, it makes sure nobody mistakes me for one of your guys, because I'm pretty sure half the Line's population can't read kanji. Second, it scares the crap outta people. Third, it looks badass as all hell, why on earth would I?"

Smoker stared at the Butcher Bird. The Butcher Bird stared back.

"You're basically an immortal teenager, aren't you?" Smoker asked despairingly.

"Ding! We have a winner."

"Why do I put up with you?"  
"Because I'm so immensely charming?"

Smoker glared at him.

"I always figured it was because you could beat him up and not have to worry about pissing anyone off, since he'd heal from whatever you did to him," Herman offered. "I mean, that's about sixty percent of why everyone on the crew deals with him."

"What's the remaining forty?" Tashigi asked.

"About evenly split between the Captain enjoying the chance to vivisect him and most of the rank and file being absolutely terrified. Which in and of itself is hilarious. It's like watching someone being scared of a teddy bear."

"A teddy bear," Tashigi said dubiously, looking at the Butcher Bird, who was grinning with far too many, too-sharp teeth. Smoker had to agree - the last thing he could see the Butcher Bird being was _snuggly._

"Kaneki's a prickly little shit to everyone not on the crew, but if you're on it...Jack's the only one who's more of a mother hen, and that's because he's basically the only responsible person."

"There's Gin," Kaneki pointed out.

"Yeah, true, Gin's the other one who doesn't understand the meaning of fun," Herman allowed with a shrug of his armored shoulders. His cloak billowed just as much as Kaneki's coat, even the heavy hide and fur twisting in this kind of wind. "But still, there's a reason C turned out as good as he did when raised by our lot, and it's because long dark and scaley up there beat the concept of helping your own into him."

"A bit literally at times," Kaneki allowed, standing up and stretching, ignoring the wind entirely. "And, right on schedule, there's the city walls," he continued with a sharp-edged grin.

Smoker leaned out past the train carriage, looking ahead. Sure enough, walls were on the horizon, massive things of iron and stone. This wasn't the familiar white brick of a Marine base - this was something foreboding and ancient, seeming old beyond measure despite the fact he _knew_ they were only fifty years old. Smoker was struck by the sudden urge to find a way to go back in time solely so he could slap whatever architects had decided to make the walls look obviously evil.

"Looks like hell," the Butcher Bird said. "Oh, I bet this will be fun. OI, CITY, LET'S SEE WHAT YOU'VE -"

 _Thwack._

Smoker winced as a low-hanging branch from one of the numerous trees that lined both sides of the tracks smacked the Butcher Bird in the face and sent him tumbling off the train, cursing all the while. "Idiot," he muttered.

"Eh, I'm pretty sure he does stupid shit like that because he can ignore the consequences," Herman observed. "He'll be fine."

"Doesn't make it any less stupid," Smoker growled.

"It does make it a little difficult to take him at all seriously anymore, Commodore," Tashigi said with a small smile. "I guess that means he's giving us a little bit of trust."

Smoker considered his ensign's words, then glared at Herman until the Berserker Hound shrugged. "Guess so," the armored pirate allowed. "Like I said, he's usually a hell of a lot more prickly." The Zoan user glanced up. "Ah, there he is."

Smoker stepped back as Kaneki dropped from the sky like a stone, landing on all fours in front of him with an impact that made the train shudder. "Not doing _that_ again," the Butcher Bird said, cracking his neck.

"You done screwing around?" Smoker asked. "We're almost there."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, Smokey. I'll behave." The Butcher Bird smiled at him. "Besides, ain't like I- do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Smoker asked, wondering if the ghoul was trying to mess with him.

"No, I hear it too," Herman growled. "Really high-pitched...what on earth?"

They were suddenly plunged into darkness, and Smoker started, before relaxing as he realized the train had just entered the tunnel through the quarantine walls. He'd been so focused on the pirates, he'd missed the entrance.

"Gone now," Kaneki said into the darkness. "Creepy as hell, though."

"Hrmph," Herman grunted.

The squeal of the train's brakes sounded, and the light returned just as suddenly as it had vanished, their ride gradually slowing as it moved towards a massive warehouse - one that he could already see orderly lines of people forming outside of.

"Time to get to work," he said flatly.

* * *

Things were quiet, and Herman didn't like it in the slightest.

Something about this place - maybe the smell, maybe something even his ears couldn't pick up - put him on edge, and putting that in contrast with the quiet, orderly way crates of medicine were being unloaded by the security personnel in their grey greatcoats and handed out by white-coated Marines was...disconcerting.

Kaneki had obviously come to the same conclusion - he already had all six tendrils out, scanning the crowds restlessly as he paced. Herman wasn't sure if the ghoul had noticed the half-dozen children who were trying to follow him - why the hell there were kids here, he wasn't sure, but they seemed fascinated by Kaneki even though the ghoul looked grumpier than a badger with a toothache.

Well, for Herman's part, he was more than happy to wait and conserve his energy for when the clusterfuck inevitably happened. Yes, he was expecting a clusterfuck, because that was his life, and quite frankly he was overdue for a life-or-death fight at this point.

"This place giving you the creeps too?" Tashigi asked as she walked up to him, on what would ostensibly be his blind side if not for the sheer weirdness that was his eye.

"Damn straight," he replied with a huff. "I don't like it. At all."

The woman nodded, laying one hand on the still-nameless blade at her hip.

"You know, I've wondered about something," Herman began. "Your whole... _thing_ , is about taking named blades out of the hands of pirates, bounty hunters, the usual scumbags, right?"

"That's right. Leaving works of art in the hands of evil men...I can't allow that."

"Right, but what do you _do_ with them afterwards?" he asked. "Are they just sitting around in your cabin right now?"

Tashigi paused.

"They are, aren't they."

"Do you have any idea how few actual swordsmen are in the Navy?" Tashigi asked heatedly. "I'm not talking about the ones who can swing around a cutlass, I mean people who are actually dedicated to the idea."

"Not a lot, I assume."

"I've met eight, and six of them already had named blades. And I'm _not_ going to just hand them off to my superiors for them to decide. What if they give a blade to someone who's just as bad as the last wielder?"

Herman nodded. "Smart. How many do you have locked in there?"

Tashigi set her jaw and didn't answer, despite the faint blush on her cheeks.

"Tashigi, how many people have you beaten up and taken swords from?" Herman asked.

"I…. _might_ be having a difficult time entering my cabin by now," she muttered.

Herman chuckled. "Scrappy, aintcha."

"There's a lot of idiots who think a sword with a name makes them invincible. And they all seem to want to pick a fight with me."

Herman smiled. There were a lot of teeth in it. "Oh, so a lot like you, then."

"I picked a fight with _you_ because I thought you were mocking me."

"See, this is why I'm not a swordsman. You're all so prickly about your honor."

Tashigi paused, then shrugged. "I used to think it was ridiculous, that you kept saying you weren't a swordsman, when using a named blade and fighting with it was most of what you did."

"There's a 'but' in there."

" _But_ it makes sense, the way you fight. None of it's really...swordsmanship. Not the way I would use it, at least. What I don't get is...you _listen_ to swords. The way you fight, or, hell, the way you just practice, it's the same way a master would with their own blade. You understand blades, a lot better than most swordsmen would, and that's the most important part, so I don't understand why you don't call yourself one anyway."

Herman sighed. "Easy enough."

Amakatta came free of its rig, the black steel humming slightly as he held the massive blade flat out in front of him. "I could," Herman continued. "Call myself that. It'd still be a lie. Swordsmen...they dedicate their lives to mastering blades. There are no other paths for them, and they revere their blades like deities. Me? I _understand_ swords. I am a smith, that's my job. You can't revere something you see the flaws in, and once your hands forge a blade...it's hard to see them as anything but tools. Ones with quirks and gifts and spirits of their own...but still just tools."

"A good blade is a swordsman's partner," Tashigi said, eyes flashing with distaste.  
"And that is why I am not one," Herman agreed. Amakatta growled in his grip as he swung the blade downward, the scattering dust off the ground with wind. "There is no blade that is equal to your own body, in my book. Blades need bodies to use them."

"That's-"

A peal of laughter cut Tashigi off, and Herman diverted his attention to where Kaneki was standing frozen. And for good reason, because a couple of the local children were trying to use his tails - the same appendages that dissolved corpses and could cut steel - as a jungle gym, ignoring the outcry from their parents and the Marines alike. Kaneki seemed utterly bewildered by the attention for several long moments, before chuckling and dropping into a cross-legged position while his tails shook the brats off.

"Right, then," the ghoul said, pulling out his pipe and lighting it. "What's got you brats so interested?"

"What are those tails?"

"You've got really weird eyes!"

"Why're you not dressed like a Marine?"

"What even are you?"

Kaneki smiled sharply as what seemed like a small army of brats materialized out of the crowd. "What am I? I'm a _pirate_ , brats."

"But...pirates are mean," one of the kids said. "You're not mean."

"Oh, **really?** "

Kaneki's eyes went black-and-red. The kids remained unmoved.

"Nah," one of them said.

"Kyakahahaha...fair enough, brats. So...let me tell you a tale, then? Seems a decent way to pass the time."

"Is it scary?" one of the brats asked.

Kaneki smiled. "Only if you're a priest. So gather close, and listen _. YISUN, King of Kings and God of Gods, walked with his disciple PREE ASHMA in the garden of bones and plums, which was one of YISUN's more favored places to walk, for it set the mind at unease…"_

Tashigi blinked repeatedly. "Should I just pretend I didn't see that?"

"Already doing it," Herman replied. "Kaneki and children are not meant to mix."

"Agreed."

Herman paused as something seemed to ripple through the crowd of locals, someone shoving their way through with alarming speed, and -

Blood. The scent of it, tinged with something he couldn't name, reeking of madness and-

"Children. **Run,** " Kaneki ordered.

Something, someone, burst from the crowd, moving almost too fast to be tracked as it lunged for the nearest Marine.

Herman was faster, Amakatta howling through the air as the massive blade spun end over end to pin the attacker to the dirt, the blur resolving into a thrashing man in bloody clothing impaled on the blade's length. The bloodied man _howled_ , a sound that made every hair on Herman's body stand on end, and grabbed the blade pinning him with bloodsoaked hands, wrenching Amakatta free with a snarl and leaping back to his feet despite the growing amount of crimson drenching him.

Herman's viewpoint narrowed to just that man, as the _creature_ locked eyes with him and bared its teeth.

It charged, crossing the distance between them in an instance, and ignored the gauntlet-clad punch that snapped its jaw in half as it grabbed Herman and slammed him into the train carriage behind him, fingers clawing at his neck, finding purchase and starting to _squeeze._ Herman ignored the sudden lack of oxygen, and drove his thumbs into the creature's eyeballs, which it ignored even as the orbs popped and blood ran down its face.

Herman's vision began to darken, before the pressure around his neck suddenly vanished and he realized he was holding a severed head in his hands. He dropped the grisly thing, and gave Tashigi a nod as the woman sheathed her sword again. His vision expanded out again, searching, as he stomped over to where Amakatta lay.

Kids, alright. Smoker, considering the snapped-in-half pieces of his jutte as he stood over a corpse that was missing several vital pieces thanks to Kaneki. Crowd, not reacting in the slightest to the brutal violence, nor the security personnel, though the Marines had stopped working and were milling around like idiots as they finally processed what had just happened. Kaneki...sitting down hard and shivering suddenly. What? What was he -

The Nightmare first mate tipped over slowly, and hit the ground unconscious, as his tails turned black and withered, and Herman suddenly realized that things had just gotten very complicated indeed.

* * *

Vinci _stepped_ out of reality to the unusual sight of Smoker being restrained by his fellow Marines.

There was also the sight of Kaneki on a stretcher, shaking and shivering, blackened veins crawling up his neck with every heartbeat.

Vinci ignored both for the moment, and fixed his eyes on the two security personnel who were blocking half a company's worth of Marines and one very pissed-off Commodore from entering the Center. "Explain," he said flatly.

"We're not allowing someone who's obviously infected into -" one began before being cut off by Smoker's snarl.

"Cut the crap. He's not sick with Reaver Syndrome, you fucking know that," the Marine growled. "I just watched this bastard put himself between a crazy person and a bunch of kids without a second thought, I _will not_ let you keep him from getting help. Now _move_ , or _be moved._ "

Vinci let his control over his emotions slip just enough to feel a little appreciation for Smoker's change of heart, before he glared at the two guards, both of whom paled and began to sweat. "I think you should do what he says. And send word to prepare an operating theater, now. And word to my cousin, as well." He paused. Pride demanded otherwise, but pride meant nothing against crew. "I will in all likelihood need his assistance."

The two guards exchanged glances, then ran inside, leaving the doors open. Vinci led the way into the Center, following remembered hallways instinctively as he beckoned Smoker to walk with him. "What happened."

"Two of the berserkers showed up. Herman and Tashigi handled one, other went for some kids. Broke my jutte on its head and it kept coming anyway, your man stabbed it with his tails. Then he froze up and keeled over, and the tails turned into some kind of ash. We got back as fast as we could."

Vinci nodded, already spinning through possible causes and cursing the lack of time to do a proper in-depth analysis of Reaver Syndrome's effects on ghoul tissue.

"You did the right thing," he said flatly.

They reached the operating room.

Things passed in blurs. Snapshots. Gloves and mask, on. Kaneki strapped to the operating table, muscular tremors necessitating restraints. Work of needles and scalpels, crimson blood so bright on a glass slide.

Through the microscope, Vinci saw chaos. Cells attacking others, foreign dark-colored things warring with Kaneki's C-cells. The invaders were winning, but slowly.

But still winning. Still killing his first mate.

As Vinci watched, the invaders began to attack conventional cells, injecting foreign substances into them, leaving black stains on nuclei.

Genetic rewriting.

Options.

Conventional treatment impossible beyond delaying whatever was occurring. Giving Kaneki more of the stabilized C-cell serum might give his body more resources, but with the current spread of infection it was also a delaying tactic. Consequences of dealing with the altered cells...unknown. Medical options were limited.

Save one.

Damn it, he'd only had a week to work, it wasn't guaranteed to help at all…

"Vinci."

Vinci looked up from the microscope. "Cousin," he said neutrally.

"I was not expecting you to call on me," Viktor said quietly, ignoring Kaneki.

"You do not understand me, then," Vinci said. "I have lost crew, Viktor. I cannot undo death. I have failed to keep crewmates alive, despite all my skill. And I refuse to let such a thing happen when I have the means to prevent it." He put a hand on Viktor's shoulder, concentrating for a split second. "Keep him alive. I need to retrieve something."

He _stepped_ , reality bending and breaking, and touched down in his lab. In a secure glass tank, his latest project floated. Red on gold, a mix of differing experiments and approaches to power. The Demon's Heart.

Incomplete. Untested. _Dangerous._

But, as the King's had been before it, the only option.

Vinci smiled. It was not his usual grin, but a quiet, sad thing that he knew didn't fit on his face.

Viktor would demand a price of some sort, and Vinci could already guess what it would be. Samples from Kaneki.

He did not have the right to give such a thing, and yet Viktor's assistance was the only thing that would make sure Kaneki survived implantation and the rewriting of his genetic code that the Demon's Heart would perform.

He did not have the right to put Kaneki at the whims of his untested creation, and yet it was necessary for him to live.

He did not have the right, but he would do so anyway, because at the end of the day, principles came second to _family_.

* * *

Doctor Franz Josef, Head of CDPR Disease Prevention, opened the door to his darkened office, clutching a stack of papers to his chest.

The moment he closed the door behind him, an arm like an iron bar closed around him, cold steel touching his throat.

"Don't you dare move," a low voice uttered, one that Franz Josef immediately recognized. The weasel-faced doctor sighed in relief.

"Grigori. Good. Saves me the trouble of having to find you without drawing too much attention."

"What."

"Well, you want to know about Reaver Syndrome, right? With your first mate in a coma?"

The steel moved slightly. "Correct," the Nightmare captain said flatly. "You're taking this better than I anticipated."

"I think...I think, in this case, we have the same goals," Josef said carefully. It wasn't the first time he'd been held at knifepoint, though it'd been a long while (since his desertion from the Kriegers, so long ago, in fact).

The captain didn't say a word, but the blade vanished, and the lights turned back on, revealing the familiar lines of desk and filing cabinets and the countless other accoutrements of Josef's job that filled his office.

Josef stepped away from the Warlord, smoothly, unhurriedly, not showing a single sign of fear at the simple fact this man could kill him in an instant. Grigori Vinci glared at him with eyes glowing gold.

"How is he?" Josef asked.

"Coma, like you said," Vinci said. "He survived implantation, and the worst effects are receding, but there's no telling when or if he'll wake up." The Warlord grimaced. "And whatever the hell it is, it _isn't_ a plague."

"No," Franz Josef said quietly. "It isn't."

"You knew." It was not a question, but it contained another one, nonetheless. _What reason can you give, that I won't kill you right now?_

"I have spent, let's see..." Franz Josef began quietly as he walked to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink of cheap bourbon. "Call it two decades of my life, on one, single, unending task, Grigori. And that is to undo the wrongs that were committed on the city of Emory."

"What happened."

"Are you familiar with _Detvitam opus?_ It was...something, one of your ancestors made, fifty or so years ago. Maybe a great-uncle, I'm not certain. Miraculous little thing, I think he made it by crossbreeding algae. Cleansed diseases and contaminants out of a water supply with ease. In humans, it coexisted, made them healthier. Not really _stronger_ , but nobody would ever get sick." The liquor burned as it went down. "Testing in labs, and some small-scale efforts, went alright. No signs of side-effects. So they put it into the water supply of Emory, to see what would happen." The empty glass clicked on the wood of his desk. "Everything seemed fine. It was when they _removed_ it from the water supply that problems cropped up. When you remove a symbiote...dysfunction follows. Reaver Syndrome...it's not a disease. It's withdrawal symptoms."

"And the medicine, then, I suppose is more of the organism," Grigori said tonelessly.

"The traces left weren't enough to keep the population sane. And we couldn't risk them leaving. So…"

"The quarantine."

"Yes. The walls house white noise generators. Keeps the organisms inside the city from dying off as easily as they do normally. Buys time to make more of them, ship them in, distribute them. Even then, someone usually goes into withdrawal before we can get to them." Franz Josef sighed. "I've been trying to find some way to remove the dependency. Nothing has worked."

"Why wall them off at all? Why keep them alive?"

"Emory has over six hundred thousand people in it. Imagine that many enraged berserkers, seeking to kill all those who aren't infected like them. The decision back then...it was made because the Elder Stars were worried that even an Admiral wouldn't be able to stop that many." Josef sighed. "So they were walled off and quarantined, kept alive by shipping in food and medicine to keep the pretense up. And this Center...it started as a place to make more of the organism. Then it became legitimate, and also...something else." He placed a hand on his desk as he walked closer to the Warlord, looking up at the man. "There are archives, deep below. Centuries old, some of them, moved here in secrecy. Every failure, every loss, that the Elder Stars wanted to keep hidden. Access is restricted, but they're there. Including the original strains of the organism."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Franz Josef let out a breath. He summoned up the same courage that had seen him throughout his fifty-seven years of life, that had led him to desert the Kriegers when Euclid Siegfried had turned his battalions on his own people.

The same courage that had seen him earn his doctorate by stubbornness and effort despite his lack of formal education beyond battlefield surgery, that had taken him to the highest position in what he'd once thought was a noble institution and had instead proven to be nothing more than a mockery of his ideals.

The same courage that had let him keep going when all his efforts to help had yielded nothing more than failed attempts at healing.

The same courage that had led him to insist on being the one to euthanize those too far gone.

The same courage that had led him through his life, now let him throw aside all meaningless pride, fall to his knees, and genuflect before the one man in the world who had the knowledge to, perhaps, succeed where he'd failed.

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I beg of you," he said, head to the floor. "Save these people. Whatever resources you need, whatever samples or documents, I will bring them despite whatever consequences may fall on me. All that matters is that this nightmare ends."

Plea made, Franz Joseph could only wait. Wait through the ticking of the clock and the beating of his heart as-

The metal-capped butt of the Warlord's scythe thudded against the floor of Josef's office, and Grigori sighed. "Stand up, man. When all else fails, I am still a doctor. To know what is wrong, and to not do what I can...I have discarded enough principles as it is. _Not this one_."


	84. From the Decks of the World 5

T-Bone was, as much as it was possible to be, a man without vices. He did not smoke, did not have any partners male or female, and did not drink.

Except for one night. One night, every year, like clockwork, the Captain would enter the most disreputable, scum-infested bar he could find, order the most potent rotgut available, and drink himself into a silent stupor alone. The fact that he did this while dressed in his Marine whites and armor, and while carrying his sword, was enough to deter most of the criminals who typically infested such places from attempting to take advantage of his inebriation. For those who thought they could take him...they typically learned otherwise.

The smart criminals, though, kept their distance, and not entirely because the only reason someone who would do what he did was because they were someone who was outright looking for a fight. No, the smart criminals kept their distance because, while T-Bone downed bottle after bottle with his right hand, his left was occupied with one simple, repetitive task: spinning a coin on his palm, the metal disk seeming to levitate as it spun slowly.

Nobody did that without some kind of reason, and the ones who did, in the estimate of the clever criminals, were usually the dangerous kind of cracked in the head.

Once T-Bone had gone through enough alcohol to incapacitate a small village, he'd walk back to his quarters, lay down in whatever bunk or ship's cot had been given to him, and sleep until dawn.

That was what he did this night, and this year, as with every year, he dreamed.

" _Ma, ma, T-Bone, you're going to get hurt for real if you keep pulling stuff like this," Grigori Von said as he tightened the bandages on T-Bone's hand, covering up the neat rows of stitches. The black-haired physician had a constant, cheery smile, which would have defused the warning if T-Bone hadn't seen the man disembowel an enraged pirate captain with a scalpel and the exact same expression on his face._

" _Seriously, though, what on earth made you try to catch a bullet?" Grigori Alexandra asked, the sharp-featured surgeon frowning as she folded her arms and gave him an impressive glare._

 _T-Bone shrugged, which made Von hiss between his teeth and smack his arm to make him stay still. "That captain was aiming for some of the slaves, and I was trying to throw myself between him and them. Fell a little short, though."_

" _You and that selfless streak of yours are going to get you killed, one day," Alexandra said. "You've been in and out of here more than anyone else on the Flotilla."_

" _The Rear Admiral gave me the sword for a reason," T-Bone said, nodding to where Bamboo lay close at hand in its sheath, the ancient double-sided blade sitting ready. "If I do not put myself on the line to preserve others, how can I claim to be Just?"_

" _Tch. And if you're dead because you insisted on blocking a lethal blow, how're you going to help anyone at all?" Von groused, cheery smile never leaving his face. He flicked T-Bone in the forehead. "C'mon, T-Bone. Next pirate might not be so considerate in aiming away from your pretty face."_

" _Eh, he's hard-headed enough that it might not do any good if they_ do _shoot him there," Alexandra jibed, smiling sharply. "But I have to agree with my husband. Take better care of yourself, friend. We all know the world isn't going to fix itself."_

" _Isn't that what we're all here for, though?" T-Bone asked as Von tied off the bandage. "To make things better?"_

 _Alexandra chuckled. "And that's why we keep you around, friend. Wouldn't be the same without you."_

" _She means you're a good person, and we really aren't," Von translated, before tossing T-Bone a silver coin. "Here. Those stitches will probably dissolve in a couple hours, with your absurd recovery rate. Once they do, I want you to practice with the coin, like so." Pulling out a second coin, he demonstrated how precise flicks of the thumb and careful manipulation of the fingers could set it to spinning, seemingly floating above his palm. "It'll keep your tendons from scarring up wrong. You need a functioning hand to use that fancy sword right, after all."_

 _T-Bone nodded, slipping the coin into a pocket of his coat as he stood and picked up Bamboo in his uninjured hand. "Thank you," he said awkwardly._

 _Von chuckled. "Don't thank us just yet, we're stopping by home tomorrow to drop off little Vinci at Pa's. And Alex wants to cook while we've got the chance at shore leave."_

" _Shut up, I'm not that bad. Everyone else just writes the recipes wrong."_

" _I see," T-Bone said, hiding a smile. "So I should bring something from Pyotr's restaurant, as usual?"_

" _Smart man."_

 _T-Bone chuckled, and made for the door, before pausing. "Why..._ are _you leaving young Vinci at home? You've kept him on board for plenty of patrols."_

 _The husband and wife paused, exchanging a glance, before Von nodded._

" _We've...heard a few things," Alexandra said carefully. "Where we're being sent next. And we don't think it's going to be a safe place for a child."_

 _T-Bone nodded. "I see. Should I be worried, as well?"_

" _Nah," Von said easily. "Most likely, it'll be a bunch of patrol duty while the big shots get themselves roughed up like idiots like usual. But better safe than sorry, you get me?"_

 _T-Bone smiled slightly. "I understand...friend."_

As with every year, T-Bone woke in a cold sweat, memories and specifics slipping out of his mental grasp no matter how much he tried to hold onto the dream.

This year, he sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his ruined features, as he dwelled on how badly he'd failed Alexandra and Von's son.

When Sakazuki - and T-Bone refused to call him anything else - had destroyed the Flotilla, scarred T-Bone in body and soul, he'd nearly given up on living, especially as he'd lain on the hospital bed and heard enough news to know he was the only survivor.

It had been the Vice Admiral who had come in, sat by his bedside, and laid Bamboo on his lap. The blunt-featured, terrifying man, had seemed...worried. Worried for _him_ , and that had been nearly madness to contemplate.

But then the Vice Admiral had begun speaking, and things had changed.

Sakazuki had spoken of the necessities of command. Of how he'd weighed the lives of those in the Flotilla against the knowledge that risked being spread and what could happen, and made the decision nobody else could. Of how a Captain, by the name of Vergo, had provided damning evidence of the Flotilla's plans to not only mutiny, but to downright turn to piracy in support of the Devil Child of Ohara. When T-Bone had gasped out that no such plans had existed, and if they had he would have known of them, Sakazuki had nodded solemnly, and explained that Vergo himself had been taken in by a criminal conspiracy festering on only one of the Flotilla's vessels, and had been overcome with grief at the results of what had happened.

T-Bone had been too wounded to do more than glare at Sakazuki as every fibre of his being boiled with rage, at how the Flotilla had died to a _miscommunication_ , and Sakazuki had accepted that hate with another solemn nod, and begun speaking again. Of what he'd seen, what he'd done, of prices paid and souls sold and why it had been necessary - cruel and hateful and wrong, but _necessary_ \- that the Flotilla die at that moment, of how the turning of a fleet renowned for good works would have ripped the oh-so-fragile power of the Marines apart for long years. Of the cruel and cold world that the two of them lived in, and how Sakazuki lived with a life as the monster and hound that kept the wolves away from the flocks of the world's citizenry.

And then he'd pushed Bamboo's hilt into T-Bone's burned and bandaged hands, and given him an order that lasted to this day:

 _Be better._

And T-Bone had. He'd served. He'd spent years at work. And whenever he could have, he'd been better. Spare the innocent, destroy the guilty. Black and white, none of the shades of grey that dominated the lives of men like Sakazuki and let them judge and weigh the lives of others.

People could be saved and redeemed. People could damn themselves while thinking they were righteous. T-Bone had seen plenty of both, and made his own judgements as to who belonged to which category. He had a feeling that, if not for Sakazuki's eye on him, those in the Government who had believed in shades of grey would have long since made life difficult for him. Certainly there had been enough attempts to send him on missions that seemed designed to make him question his principles.

But he had not. Not until he'd seen Grigori Vinci's face on a bounty poster, read of his crimes and the crew he'd gathered to him, and wept at what had happened to the son of his closest friends, to the boy he'd once told stories to.

He'd hoped that meeting the boy face-to-face would give him a chance to turn him to the light, that his acceptance of Warlord status indicated that, perhaps, he'd seen that Justice mattered, that crookedness could not be abided - but he'd failed, crossed some invisible line when he'd asked why Vinci had made the choices he had, and destroyed any hope of salvaging that once-cheerful child.

He'd tried again with another of the Nightmares, Bertram Lauren, that broken girl who turned the loss of her family and home into nightmares she'd inflicted on the world to dull her own pain...and he'd failed again, doomed before he even started because his appearance had wounded her from the beginning.

Rubeus Jack was a non-starter, as was Gin and the monster-child that followed Lauren around like a murderous cat. Bosque Herman had only stared at him with his solitary eye full of scorn, and asked if Bamboo's hilt burned his hands anew every time he drew it.

And the Butcher Bird...even if T-Bone had been inclined to grant forgiveness to a creature like that (and there were no shades of grey, murder even to eat was murder), he had heard word of how it thought. There was no common cause to be had there, only lines drawn between them.

And so T-Bone lived with his failures. Because he had to. Because, at the end of the day, there was one simple command for him: _be better._

The coin spun in his hand, the silver disk long since worn smooth. He placed it in a pouch he had long since sewn into the lining of his Marine mantle, before donning the garment alongside the rest of his clothing and armor. There was a long day ahead, and T-Bone would try to leave the world a better place than the one he'd woken up to.

He had nothing else left.

* * *

There were three constants.

First, the number of occupants.

Second, the age of those occupants.

Third, the omnipresent weight of power, saturating the very air around them. It might have been an artifact of political power, the unspoken truth that the occupants of that room could reshape the world with a word in the right ear...or it may have been the presence of the men themselves, too much to be contained by mortal bodies.

No matter the words spoken or the actions taken, in that room high above the rest of the world, those three constants eternally prevailed.

"They are dead, then," the one with the birthmark said.

"Of course," the man with the sword replied. "It appears that our belief that that particular creature had been destroyed was...in error."

"To risk any more vessels is unwise," the thin one said, one hand grooming his impressive mustache and goatee. "We cannot deploy the kind of firepower needed to subdue it without being noticed."

"Then leave it," the youngest said. "The creature will serve to prevent anyone else from reaching that place, which was the goal all along."

"And the one we have in sight? What shall we do with it?" the one with the sword asked. "Leaving it to its own devices is...foolish. It might be leashed for now, but it will chafe at Grigori's restraining it eventually."

"The leash only needs to hold for a few more weeks, weeks it may spend asleep if the latest reports are correct," the scarred man said. "Then, it will be here, and we can fulfill our command."

"And the world of order will grow all the stronger for it," the youngest stated.

"And then the question becomes...what do we do with the other?" the thin man asked.

The one with the sword snorted. "It is recalcitrant and only lives as it does because to subject it to the punishments it deserves would only give it the chance to break free. Once we have something more...cooperative...it is dead weight. And it will be given the treatment all such things are."

The five men nodded as one.

As they willed it, so it would be.

* * *

Jabra sat at the crappy little table in the crappy little cafe in the crappy little town, and tried to ignore how much his everything hurt.

That damn _cook_ of all people hit worse than the damn Sea Train, just his luck. Well, at least Jabra had left the bastard a few things to remember him by, including one hell of a gash that'd taken off the abomination to natural law that was that man's swirling eyebrow. Jabra hoped it scarred, just to spare future generations the sight of it.

And, hell, it wasn't like anyone else had come off any better. Not during the fight, and sure as hell not during the aftermath.

Burned. Discarded. Being _hunted_ , because Spandam was ten pounds of shit in a two-pound bag and blamed _them_ for losing to a crew of what, a month or two ago, Jabra would've probably called monsters. He knew a hell of a lot better what real monsters were like, but he had to admit, the Straw Hats came close. Especially their Captain, who had turned out to be far tougher than any sane person would expect.

Jabra suppressed a growl as he pretended to read the morning paper. At least this one didn't feature any puff pieces from the Hunt. Probably because Morgans had gotten bored and wandered off to find another scoop, but if Jabra had had to read another article featuring the damned _Butcher Bird_ trying to incite pity with his sob stories about having 'a serious medical condition that made him eat people' he would've killed someone, so small mercies.

The paper was still shit, though. Stupid fucking articles trying to convince the sheep that the world wasn't going utterly to shit and that everything was fine despite Warlords defecting and pirates burning down Judicial islands and all the other assorted chaos that followed it.

Jabra very carefully did not react as a young woman slid into the chair opposite his. After several moments, he put down his paper. "So you're who they sent," he said neutrally.

"That's right," the young woman said cheerfully. "So, I assume this means you're interested?"

"Some of us," Jabra said quietly. "Others...are less than convinced our methods are suitable for your people."

Gods above, below, and in-between, he hated this part of the job. He preferred tall tales and legends and stories so ridiculous people believed them anyway, not this careful doublespeak. But everyone else was either too weak to make a good showing (Fukuro and Kalifa, Jabra hated both of them), too flamboyant ( _fucking_ Kumadori, Jabra hated him too), or too preoccuppied with keeping Lucci from murdering everyone else for even considering the actions they were taking (Kaku...who Jabra currently didn't have it in him to hate, namely because the giraffe bastard had nailed Lucci in the nuts with a Nose Pistol and the sight of his rival's face at that moment had been immensely gratifying). So it fell to him.

The young woman sighed. "And at least one of you is immensely pissed off and is likely to go strikebreaking if you take jobs from us?"

"That about sums it up," Jabra admitted. "But, our concerns…?"

"You'll take commissions, we get a lot of anonymous requests. Big parties and the like, work you're quite suited for if your previous record is any indicator. I hear it's loud work, though. Plenty of exposure, I suppose."

So. They needed a deniable wet-works team. Not assassins, really, more something they could fire and forget. And it'd be work that would put Jabra and his compatriots in the hot seat because of that lack of stealth.

Eh, what the hell, it wasn't like they'd been very good at the 'quiet' part anyway.

Hell, the way it was sounding, it'd be like they never left the government's employ at all.

Jabra smiled thinly. "Well, then. You want to head back to the shop, work out the details?" he offered.

"Of course," the young woman replied. "I'll have the opportunity to convince your coworker to not break from your little union, too."

Jabra stood, sizing the woman up as he did so.

The animal part of his brain went _ha ha, nope._

Jabra nodded to the Revolutionary Army agent, smiling genially. "I look forward to it."

* * *

The island was a crag of rock in a windswept sea, a mountain of sheer cliffs and scattered spires that was impossible to lay anchor near. Nothing grew on it, and it had no resources to exploit. And then there was the fact of its location, namely, one island of many that was ignored by the chaotic magnetic fields of the Grand Line. Such places were countless, uncharted dregs unmarked on any map save perhaps a few crude charts shared among clusters of neighboring isles. Certainly not noticed by any nation or organization.

Save one, though 'organization' might have required some stretching of the definition. They did not need Log Poses or maps to find this place.

The island was bare, it was cold, it was unapproachable, and it was inhospitable, but such things hadn't mattered to those who had laid claim to it. Tunnels and chambers had been carved into the rock, entrances hidden below the waves with such cunning even such fishmen who were suicidal enough to come here would not have noticed them...and would not have noticed anything else ever again in very short order, for the island had guardians of many sorts, all of them as vicious and grim as the island itself.

Of the chambers, one stood in the exact center of the island, and in the center of that was a table. Perfectly circular, it held space for eight to sit, though only six chairs, three facing three, graced it. In the remaining spots, opposite from one another, were a prison and a throne.

The throne was empty, and always had been.

The prison was occupied, and always had been.

The chairs held occupants as well, which was a rare occurrence indeed. Six things that were far greater and far lesser than men had gathered on this day, which was immensely rarer still. There had been only two prior times all six had been present, and both times had been centered around eras that still echoed into the present day.

"The World Serpent is awake," the one who had the prison immediately to its right said, opening the meeting. The name-that-was-not-a-name echoed. It was a necessity - there were names, and then there were _names_ , and none present wished to invoke the latter. "We can all assume why."

"Because you three decided to let him run wild," the speaker's neighbor said, glaring at its counterpart on the opposite side of the table. "To unearth centuries of preparation on a whim."

"If you think it a whim, King of the Deep Ones," the counterpart responded, "you are mistaken. As are you, First Scolder. Things are coming to a head as never before, and in such times, when the _last_ of our blood finally walks free...we all know what is coming."

"We thought the Immortal Apothecary the last, and after him the Abyssal Angel," the one who sat with the throne to its immediate left cautioned. "What makes the Hungering Wyrm any different? Is the third a guarantee or another indicator of false hope, Destroying King?"

"Ask the Prisoner, then," the one with the throne to its right said, interrupting any retort from its neighbor. "Ask it, Silvertongue, and see what portents it gives us, before you condemn us three."

"If you insist, Morningstar," the one with the prison to its right said wearily. "Hungering Ghost?"

The one with the prison to his left nodded, and produced a few hairs, wrapped tight in wax paper. It turned to the prison.

The prison was a solid cage of metal, welded plates overlapping like scales, only a small grid of bars offering any opening. One hundred and eight nails of ocean stone had been driven into it with no sense of order or purpose, and an equal number of chains covered it.

The one referred to as Hungering Ghost pushed the hairs through, and withdrew its hand before he could lose it permanently. Its flesh steamed and turned black for long moments afterward, as a growl came from the prison.

It subsided, and the six waited eagerly.

Finally, a voice issued forth, clouds of smoke pouring from the bars.

" _It is not him."_

The Hungering Ghost, The Morningstar, and the Destroying King paled.

" _Not yet. Untempered and raw. But he is the last, and he will be the first. His coming shakes free vermin and gutter scum and the demons and devils, he walks alongside children of gold and iron and brass and steel and song. He is slaughter and hate and cleansing flame, toy of gods and breaker of them. He is the bane of heroes and the guardian of the unloved. He is the killer of the uncrowned and the deliverance of the undeserving,_ _ **and his name is known:**_

 _ **NIDHOGGR."**_

The smiles of one side were as sharp as knives.

" _As are the names of those who will fall,"_ the voice continued in a sibilant, caressing, joyous whisper.

" _ **DAGON. COYOTE. PRETA. LOKI. LUCIFER. APOLLYON.**_ _Those who will die for another age."_

The voice fell silent, and the smoke ceased.

The six exchanged glances, then, as one, nodded.

"We must make ready, then," the Destroying King said softly. "Things...will no longer be the same." It stood. "We all have our own to watch and to reassure, to give explanation for why one of their own is still breaching our law without swift death following. And it is not yet time for this truth."

"Agreed," the King of the Deep Ones said. "Not yet."

"Agreed," the remaining four echoed.

"And _when_ things change?" the Silvertongue asked. "What then?"

"Then...we unlock the gates of Hell, and see what happens," the Morningstar said, and though their brother was the most impulsive and least thoughtful of them all, none of the six could disagree with that summation.

Six of them, for six seas. They had built the world their people inhabited, through their own blood. And if they had to die so that their people would at last leave the shadows?

So be it.


	85. Chapter 103

_Log One, Journal One._

 _I understand the need for secrecy and seclusion, but was it honestly necessary to put our research center on an island that is completely disconnected from the magnetic fields of the Grand Line? It's rendered some of our more delicate testing equipment useless until we recalibrate all of it._

 _No matter. Minor delays are immaterial so long as we have a functioning finished product._

 _Current trials with volunteers are proceeding well, with relatively minimal side effects. However, the key issue is in maintaining the effects. Currently, experiments with artificially produced sera show that any benefit vanishes quickly after injection._

 _Hence why my expertise was required, I suppose._

 _It is astonishing that we were able to acquire such a location, if I may have a personal aside in these logs. The engineers at Ivankivraion really have come a long way in navigation and construction. Some of their ideas, though...steel hulls and cannons the size of buildings? Pfah! Well, so long as they come up with a few good things, I suppose letting the madmen on_ that _particular island run free with their ideas is adequate...even if they are a bunch of oil-encrusted d-_

 _Log Four, Journal One._

 _Had to invent and construct three new instruments to get at the issue, but I finally have the ability to look closer than ever at samples from the volunteers, and to test them for chemical contaminants._

 _It appears that our attempts at creating artificial sera have had some manufacturing error - the resulting 'cells', for lack of better terminology, are distinctly malformed in comparison to their normal counterparts. The lack of side-effects thus far is mostly due to the volunteer's own bodies destroying them. It seems to be something like the body fighting off an infection. Actually, I should see if I can observe_ that _as well._

* * *

 _We do not die here. Not to this._

The world is blurry when I force my eyes open, colors and shapes smeared without distinction. Everything feels heavy, including my eyelids.

Blotches of color move, meaningless sounds echo. There's a blue patch near my hand. I reach out, twine my fingers through strands.

Tired. So tired.

...

Are you listening, child?

 _The man smiled at the dragon, and at the tree that it was coiled around. The tree was new, in the scheme of things, but the place that was not a place, the hill of white clover...change was something that would happen to it, no matter what._

We aren't dead. Colour me surprised, _the man said._

We were far too close, _the dragon growled._ Was it worth it?

Perhaps, _the man answered, lighting his pipe._ Lives were saved.

They are doomed to the same fate, _the dragon said._ And I do not mean ordinary mortality. Death would be a mercy.

 _The man shrugged._ What are you, that can judge death and mercy?

I am as pure an expression of what we are as might ever be, _the dragon said, rearing back and spreading its wings._

You are rage and spite and power, _the man replied evenly._ For all that you wish to keep me safe, your purity is at the cost of humanity.

WE ARE NOT HUMAN! _the dragon roared, scorching the clover beneath its jaws._ Neither of us are, _it said, more quietly._ Why have you not accepted that?

I have, _the man said, unmoved._ But for all that I might be inhuman, why does that mean I must be evil?

 _The dragon blinked._ Evil is a concept for lesser beings.

Nihilism does not suit you well, dragon, _the man said._ Why use it now?

Because...if you insist on this self-flagellation, on denying what you can be...you cannot continue on, _the dragon said softly. It bowed its head._ Because if I cannot convince you that you are not evil, then I must try to convince you that evil does not matter. You still confuse me. Why must you hate yourself for living?

Because my existence demands the death of others, and nothing changes that simple fact, _the man answered._

 _The dragon smiled, row upon row of teeth._ You forget your own words.

Oh? _the man asked._

First: you sail upon the sea where the rules of the world warp. Second: you sail with the one who seeks to change those rules for all. And third... _The dragon paused, lowering its head to gaze at the man._ You are a pirate. And what are mere rules to our kind?

 _The man fell silent._

We will speak again, _the dragon said._ Of memories and stolen lives, yes?

 _The man nodded._ There is much, _he said softly,_ that needs to be discussed.

…

Consciousness returns in a flash. The first thing I register is the oppressive smell of a hospital.

The second is the person in the corner of the room breathing the even, steady breaths of someone who's fallen into an exhausted slumber.

Alright. Time to see what's going on. I open my eyes, register the unfamiliar tiled ceiling of a hospital, and sit up slowly, pacing myself. My chest and back ache, but it's less _pain_ and more the dull ache of well-exercised muscles. And…

 _Thu-thump._

My heartbeat is...off. Almost...twinned.

Oh fuck me, what did Vinci do?

Focus, Kaneki. Figure out exactly what happened, _then_ determine if Vinci needs to be punched in the face.

I abruptly realize I have no clothes on.

And, judging from the scent - spices, clean sweat, and a faint trace of detergent - the person sleeping in the corner is Six.

Right, so that's that question about the punch-worthiness of my captain settled, moving on.

The hospital cot's thin blanket makes for an adequate makeshift toga. I swing my legs off of the cot, and try to pad away silently…

And Six opens his eyes, sees me, and practically leaps out of his chair to tackle-hug me. I freeze for a moment at the uncharacteristic act, then carefully hug him back. He's a lot less bony than I remember, how long was I out? "Um...there, there?" I say carefully. "Was it that bad?"

Six flinches, and I loosen my grip and step away, giving him space. The taller man frowns slightly, fingers twitching. "You nearly died," he says softly.

"So, yes, then. How long have I been…?"

"Two weeks."

Oh. I glance at the chair. "Were you...here? The entire time?"

Six pauses, then shakes his head minutely.

"Good," I say. "You've been taking care of yourself, then."

Six blinks, then a small, fleeting smile flits across his lips. "I did not know what you would think. I should have expected that."

"You really should've," I say with a grin. "The only one I'm allowed to expect unreasonable things from is myself."

Six considers this for a moment, then cocks his head. "Your training schedule may require adjustment, then."

"Was that a joke?"

"Yes."

"Good job. So, what about-"

 _THOOM._

I blink and wave away the haze of dust. "There was a door, guys," I say wearily, before C and the Oni swarm me, Pamca snatching me up in a hug that makes me question whether my ribs are actually unbreakable.

"Don't give a shit," Eka says cheerily when Pamca finally lets me down to breathe. "Also, welcome back, Boss. What do you need?"

I blink, then scan the room, seeing only eager smiles. "Just like that, huh? I'm back on my feet and the first thing you want to know is what _I_ want?"

Tina smiles sheepishly, the statuesque woman scratching the back of her head. "Told ya he'd be cranky."

"Shut it," Eka says without losing the smile.

"What the merry idiots failed to explain is that we _have_ what we want," Dui says evenly, the blue-haired aristocrat dodging Eka's retaliatory lunge with practiced ease. "You're the only one who could need something at the moment...Boss."

I raise an eyebrow. "Fine, then. Your first order is to find me my god-damned clothes. I have a captain to talk to." My stomach rumbles. "Also, food, please," I add more quietly.

Six brushes past me, slipping through the press of bodies as he gives me a nod, and given how everyone else starts perching themselves wherever there's space, I guess that he's going off to get me both of those.

I perch myself on the edge of the cot, before sniffing the air and looking at C, who...yeah, he stole my sunglasses, the little shit. "You smell different," I say flatly.

"So do you, big brother," C replies. He adjusts his tie. "The captain did science to you first, and when it worked he tested it a bit and then did it to me."

"A lot's happened, the past couple weeks," Eka says quietly, leaning against a wall and scratching at his close-cropped beard. "Hospital here's part of the Center, by the way. And you got lucky, waking up when you did. Six was gonna head on back to the _Ends_ soon."

I raise an eyebrow. "I guess that does make me lucky," I murmur. "Still, any disasters?"

"Beyond you getting some horrible weird sickness because you can't learn what not to eat?" Percy snarks, the prizefighter pacing a small section of the room. "Nah, nothing yet. Captain's been really pissed about _something_ , though, and it isn't you getting hurt. Lasted way too long for that."

I consider everything that had me and Herman on edge in Emory, then nod. Government clusterfuck, almost certainly. Great. Well, we're probably about to burn everything down...I really, _really_ hope Smoker and Tashigi have left by now.

I look at Chandos, who cocks his head. "Yeah?" the mustachioed ex-Marine asks.

"I know you've got dice on you, and it's not like we've got anything else to talk about that I won't be getting out of Vinci. Fancy a game?"

"Actually, how _are_ you planning on getting information out of the captain?" Pamca asks.

I shrug. "I was planning on grabbing him by the ankle and shaking him until the secrets fall out."

"You'd probably just get a bunch of scalpels and random abominations of nature."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about the killer gerbils," Dui moans, burying his face in his hands.

"I like the gerbils," C objects.

"That's because they're afraid of you, C," Eka chides.

"So, rules?" Chandos asks as he takes out a set of cups and dice. "And what're we betting, exactly?"

"Eh, I've got no cash on me, so how about I let whoever wins get out of a sparring match?" I propose.

"Not a lot," Eka muses.

"One of the solo ones," I clarify.

"Okay, yeah, that works," the Oni leader amends. "So, Pig, then?"

"Sure."

Dice roll and rattle, and for several minutes I lose myself in the game. I fall behind on points pretty quickly, C taking the lead and the rest of the Oni falling in behind him despite their best efforts. At some point, Six ducks back in through the hole in the wall with a tray of food and a duffel bag, and I don't even look before chowing down.

Then, I pause, smelling the tension in the air as everyone stares at me. I look down at the sandwich in my hands.

The half-eaten, not-tasting-like-rotting-death-like-everything-not-flesh-always-has sandwich.

Tina's smiling, though she's trying to hide it behind her hand. Everyone else seems to be waiting on my reaction.

I swallow the mouthful of food, keeping my breathing and expression controlled. "Huh," I say neutrally. "I guess I really _do_ need to talk to the Captain."

The tension visibly deflates, and Eka accepts a large wad of cash from a clearly annoyed Chandos.

"One day you're going to learn to stop taking bets from him," Dui chides.

"Same day you give up wine, dandy," the sabre-user growls.

I smile at Six. "Thank you," I say softly. "For the food."

The cook nods, then hands me the duffel bag. "You should probably get dressed, Kaneki," he says softly. "And I am glad you're happy."

I take a deep breath, keeping a lid on things a little longer. "I...I think I need a moment, guys," I ask quietly.

Everyone pauses for a moment, before glances pass between them all and they leave silently, leaving me alone in the room.

I take several deep breaths, restraining the urge to run after them shouting questions, the urge to laugh or cry or both, the joy and the worry I feel and everything else…

In. Out. Walls up, clothes on (and for once I'm glad the red color on the coat is dye instead of the blood I pretend it is, I don't need to find out right now whether I still have the _need_ ).

I've got a captain to talk to.

* * *

Vinci slammed a textbook's worth of notes and files down on Franz Josef's desk, and the doctor flinched.

"I have failed," Vinci said flatly, and the words burned.

"Failed? But your Augments-"

"Augments _fizzle and die_ against a deep-rooted infection. Kaneki's only worked because his particular horrifyingly competent biology _fought back_ enough to let the Augment take hold. Against people who have been living with these symbiotes their entire lives...not a chance." He let out a breath. "And, as you told me when we were still pretending this was a plague, symptoms are irreversible once begun. Purging their systems entirely will kill them, and altering the symbiotes themselves beyond the most crude methods is functionally impossible, because _that_ results in their deaths as well. _Apparently_ , my ancestor didn't consider the possibility of _needing_ to remove them." Vinci paused. "The only real option, beyond what the Cogs have been considering...I'd need to enter the archives."

"The archives which are guarded inside and out, heavily monitored, and which you accessing will probably see you stripped of your Warlord status?" Franz Josef asked with a sigh.

Vinci grinned. "Did I ever tell you why I came to this island, doctor?"

The weaselly-looking man shook his head carefully.

"I knew _something_ was rotten, but I didn't know what. Figured it was under the Center, but didn't know the specifics. Now, I do. It's an entire treasure trove of knowledge, every experiment the World Government's run in the biological department." Vinci leaned forwards. "If you think I'm letting the chance slip through my fingers, you are sadly mistaken."

"And helping the people of Emory?" Josef asked sharply.

"My knowledge is insufficient, as are my methods. But the little documentation you were able to smuggle out of the archives shows methods even more advanced than my own work were created _fifty years ago._ The only reason they aren't currently in use the world over is because the World Government locked the research away. And the archives are _huge._ There _has_ to be something I can use in there, some buried creation that is even more advanced, that even you don't have access to." Vinci paced Josef's office, hands folded behind his back. "A counter-organism, a method of altering the symbiotes _without_ destroying them, even a way to safely purge them - something that was never considered because the applications in this scenario weren't thought of. _Something_."

"And what do you get out of it?" Franz Josef asked, folding his hands.

"You don't trust me? After begging for my help?" Vinci asked.

"After two weeks of committing what some will no doubt call treason to aid you, I trust you to have a reason for this and a plan," Franz Josef replied, glasses flashing. "So what do you gain?"

"Well, if this works...beyond the simple pleasure of breaking a problem five decades old and getting to rub in my cousin's face that I managed to solve something he thought impossible to...I want _knowledge_ , doctor. And it's all under my feet. All I need from _you_ is a way inside." Vinci smiled, and turned away, picking up his scythe from where he'd leaned it against the doorframe. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Captain."

Vinci snapped his head to the right, staring down the hall at the unmistakable form of Kaneki, on his feet and moving towards him.

Oh. Well. Prices were going to be paid, he supposed. At least he was _awake_ , but Vinci dearly wished Six or the Oni had seen fit to _tell_ him that.

"We need to talk," the ghoul continued, gaze steady.

Vinci nodded. Time to take his lumps. "Not here," he said, glancing down the hallway and moving to another doorway. He wrenched it open. "Come on, in here."

Kaneki glanced at it dubiously. "That's a closet, captain."

"And?"

Kaneki rolled his eyes - had he noticed the change there yet? - but complied, stepping into the closet. Vinci followed him.

It was not a comfortable fit. Neither of them were exactly small by the standards of normal humans, and Vinci's head brushed the ceiling. Kaneki glared up at him, arms folded in a vain attempt to preserve personal space. "So now that we're in the closet together, are you finally willing to talk?"

Vinci couldn't meet the man's eyes. "I…I'm sorry."

"Wait, what."

The words were difficult to get out, but they needed to be said. "I...I used the Demon's Heart on you without consent, I allowed my cousin to take samples from you in exchange for keeping you alive, I violated about a dozen of my own rules, and…"

Kaneki hugged him, and Vinci froze.

"So you kept me alive," the ghoul said simply.

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing. You kept me alive, you made it so I can eat regular food again, and you didn't even have to murder anyone I like to do it. So _thank you_ , and stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself," Kaneki said, letting go and stepping back as best the limited space allowed.

Vinci's mouth worked for a moment. "...since when are you a hugger?" he finally asked.

"Since I don't have to worry about my instincts deciding to take over and make me want to munch on people, you prick."

"That sounds more like a psychosomatic thing than…"

"Hush, let me remain committed to my role as the tormented monster."

Vinci let out a shaky laugh. "So you're not mad? Even about…"

"Well, I'm pissed at your cousin for taking advantage of the situation, but he was on the murder list anyway after what he did to Elisha. We do still have the plan intact, right?"

"I gave Jack the details, but…" Vinci paused, then gave Kaneki the quickest possible explanation of what was going on in Emory. The sudden spike in ambient temperature was not surprising in the slightest.

"So, slaughter is gonna happen," Kaneki growled, eyes practically glowing. " _Wonderful._ "

"Might not even need to," Vinci said. "Just show your face and they'll surrender. Particularly since…" He paused.

Kaneki narrowed his eyes. "Since what, Vinci?"

"Have you gazed at a mirror recently?"

"I - No, what the fuck did you do?"

Vinci handed him a small hand mirror, and Kaneki looked into it, facing his new eyes. Slit-pupiled, red on black, and unchanging. Demon's eyes, for someone with a heart to match.

"Huh," Kaneki said briefly, before handing the mirror back. "Got an extra pair of sunglasses in that coat?"

Vinci wordlessly handed him a pair, identical to the ones he'd previously had, and the ex-ghoul took them before running his hands through his brown hair - scruffier now, but still the same sharp-peaked, cropped-sided thing it'd been before he'd been changed. "Right," Kaneki said. "Gonna talk to Jack then. See what I've got to do." He grinned viciously. "Wade in their blood, captain."

He clapped Vinci on the shoulder, and then left him alone in the closet, walking off and humming tunelessly under his breath.

Oh, thank science. Vinci hadn't slept in three days, but he was fairly certain that he hadn't just monumentally screwed up and doomed them all.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Eh, even if he had, Jack would probably fix it. Or Kaneki would murder the problem. It was fine.

* * *

Jack was happy that Kaneki was up and about, and apparently raring for a fight. Truly.

However, he had a strong feeling his headache had returned the exact moment the first mate had woken up, and the way Kaneki was staring at him through the blank lenses of his sunglasses while Jack organized the various spread-out detachments of the crew that were setting up throughout the five towers of the Center (and still trickling in over the rail line, because moving too many people at once was bound to arouse suspicion) made Jack wonder just what the...was he even a ghoul anymore?...wanted.

At least the Hunt had already gotten their warnings and their orders about the oncoming clusterfuck that would happen in the next couple of hours, and had made their own preparations. One less problem for Jack to solve.

"Right," Jack said, as he closed the connection on the large transponder snail sitting on his fold-out desk, glaring at where Kaneki was leaning against the wall of the empty room Jack had claimed as a base of operations (after the Fae and the Cogs had ensured nobody would be listening in, obviously). "What do you want?"

"The Oni and Six have been assigned to the _Ends._ "

Jack sighed. "The Wraiths can take care of the battleships at dock, but there's always two on patrol near the waters themselves. If we want to make a clean getaway, those need to go, and planting charges on a ship at sea and full of Marines on alert is something very, very different from doing the same to empty ones. So the Oni need to be a breach squad, they're the best heavy hitters who aren't going to draw attention like the rest of us when this kicks off."

"You're assuming that the Marines are immediately going to know when we breach the archives, then," Kaneki said. "And come loaded for bear."

"Anyone with a bounty and a fancy name is here," Jack said with a nod. "We want their eyes on us."

"Hm. The security forces here?"

"We're planning to keep them tied up as long as possible. Horus is currently sleeping off enough anesthetic to keep down an Emperor."

"You drugged him?"

"I'd rather not have you be upset he got killed in the fighting."

"Hrmph." Kaneki didn't disagree, though.

"As for the rest," Jack said. "We've got enough people spread throughout the towers that taking out the scientists who got handed some of the captain's research should be pretty easy. We're ignoring the 'Prevention' half, they're legitimate, but everyone in the 'Research' labs are on the target list." Franz Josef hadn't been happy about that, but had been somewhat mollified when Jack had produced reports detailing some of the _less_ horrific things being cooked up in there. Well, not so much 'mollified' as 'had to be restrained by three of the Wolves while cursing at the top of his lungs', but Jack was just glad the man had stopped interfering in the planning after that.

The benefits of torturing lock codes out of Marines were many, it seemed.

"And Six?" Kaneki asked carefully, and Jack hid the urge to smile at how much of an effort Kaneki was clearly making to be unemotional.

"I think keeping Six as far away from the fight as possible is a good idea," Jack replied. "He's been training even harder since you got hurt, but...he's not someone I want in the thick of things."

Kaneki nodded. "So once things kick off?"

"All of the officers, the captain, the doctor, and everyone's bodyguard clubs, save yours, take the elevators down and breach the archives. There's three in the central spire, we won't find much resistance once we get in beyond some custodian. Get in, take whatever looks useful for the Captain or the Cogs, take your tunnel out and link up with the _Ends._ We'll have to carry the Devil Fruit users through the water but everyone's strong enough to handle that fairly easily. Get back on board, sail for better horizons, and lay low for long enough that the World Government gets distracted by bigger problems like whatever Straw Hat does next. Oh, Enies Lobby went down pretty much like you said a few days ago, by the way."

Kaneki smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Well. I almost feel pity for Spandam."

"Does he even deserve it, given what you said about him?"

"That's why I said almost. So what about-"

 _Puru puru puru puru-_

Jack glanced at the transponder snail that, thanks to some Cog-derived modifications to its rig, was listening in on Marine communications.

" _This is a general announcement to all Marine personnel and Center security personnel. You are to arrest any and all members of the Nightmare crew immediately and detain them until further notice. All officers of the Nightmare crew are to be brought to Arlen Marine Base once captured."_

The snail fell silent, and Jack met Kaneki's eyes. The ghoul nodded, and bolted out the door, wings already bursting free from his back.

Jack picked up the central transponder snail linked to all the baby ones carried by each detachment of Nightmares. The connection opened, and Jack smiled as he picked up his hammer with his other hand. "Bosun to all Nightmares. Execute Plan Charlie Foxtrot."

Gunfire sounded from all directions.


	86. Chapter 104

_Log One, Journal Two_

 _Merely injecting the artificial sera still isn't working. We've sorted out most of the manufacturing defects, mostly a matter of replacing the stock we were harvesting from, but results are still difficult to maintain. I_ refuse _to lose funding for something like this. We_ will _make better soldiers._

 _Log Two, Journal Two_

 _Hypothesis: if we had a means of maintaining a constant supply of artificial sera, the tendency of the cells to be discarded by the body after a short period would be negated. Perhaps, with constant exposure, the body would adapt. The question then becomes, what sort of mechanism would that require? Mechanical interfaces would be vulnerable and highly unsanitary to boot._

 _Log Five, Journal Two_

 _I've finally cracked it. The artificial sera can self-organize if given an unoccupied base and a high enough concentration. And the resulting structures produce_ more _sera! Initial tests are going well with the volunteers, and I've lined up a surgery for myself after seeing the results. They're so much more vital, so much more alive, than ordinary humans, now. Smarter, stronger, tougher._

 _I_ will _have that for myself. The pride of the family, and my own pride, demands it._

* * *

Dr. Jomurka Basi turned as the sound of gunfire echoed through the hallways, abandoning the cell culture he'd been examining. He did so just in time to see the door of the lab he'd been working in explode inwards, and to duck as screaming and the sound of high-caliber rifle fire consumed his world. He huddled behind the lab counter, flinching as a round burst through the wood just in front of him, blasting a hole the width of a dinner plate through the wood.

Damn it, Vinci had known exactly where they'd been trying to reverse-engineer the pirate's work! That, or Basi had the worst possible luck.

Of _course_ the pirates were betraying them. They were pirates, after all. But-

Basi froze as he realized things had gone very quiet all around him. He crawled forward as carefully as he could, and peeked through the massive hole that had been blasted through his poor abused lab counter. The assailants - huge, armored, and carrying equally huge weapons - were pulling back.

Was that really it? Were they leaving without checking? Stupid bastards, of course they were, they were a pack of idiot pira-

A dark-grey cylinder flew through the busted-open door, and bounced off the lab counter opposite Basi's, rolling to a stop just shy of him. It hissed ominously as he stared at it, and he began to back away-

Basi felt searing heat, and then nothing else.

The squad of Wolves moved on. There were other labs to destroy, and little time in which to do it.

* * *

Security Lieutenant Custer MacArthur smiled as his men wheeled the cannon into place. If the traitorous bastards wanted to get into this tower, they would have to face enough riflemen to give Marine captains pause and a whole lot of heavy artillery. The first-floor atrium he'd ordered his men into provided more than enough room for both. It was a good thing, too - nobody could evacuate from this tower without leaving through here and ending up slaughtered by the Nightmares, and this made sure they'd hold out and protect every one of the noncombatants and civilians inside, from doctor to dishwasher. They had the firepower for it.

He didn't care what sort of science freaks the Nightmares had, they didn't have a chance against this many-

 _Tink. Tink. Tink._

MacArthur slowly turned to where one of the Nightmare's freaks was lounging against the barrel of a cannon, cloak shrouding its features as it tapped a clawed finger on the weapon's barrel. The bodies of the gun crew, slain in complete silence, were piled around it.

MacArthur drew his sabre, but the apparition vanished, leaving behind a slowly ticking sphere, right next to the barrels of gunpowder.

MacArthur had just enough time to curse before the blast ripped him, and the entire tower, apart.

William Wallace stepped through unreality and re-emerged with the ease of long practice, falling into step behind Bertram Lauren and the rest of her guarding force - the Ghosts, they'd called themselves, in a fit of morbidity.

They had an elevator to secure, now that their flanks were dealt with.

* * *

Rosie Camasa ran through the corridors, the sound of screams taunting him. It was just him, Punan Sark, and Lobaka Mena left from their squad. The giants had slaughtered the rest, and they'd run as the rest of the security team died.

They weren't equipped to deal with this! Their guns couldn't even scratch the armor on those behemoths, and trying to fight with bayonets was even more suicidal! All they could do was die in place. And so they'd run, fast enough and far enough that maybe, just maybe, the pack of monsters in human skin wouldn't catch the three of them.

Camasa slowed as the other two did, all of them panting and out of breath. Mena and Sark exchanged glances, and Mena opened his mouth. "I think we're s-"

The wall behind Mena exploded, and Camasa ran, catching a glimpse of metallic, insectoid limbs impaling the security officer as he did so.

" _ **.-. . .-. .. ... ... -··- - . .- - -... .- -. ... -·-·-"**_ the abomination screeched as the two security officers bolted, the sound of metal screeching against the wood and concrete of the hallways pursuing them. Camasa spared a glance over his shoulder, and instantly regretted it as the sight of some unholy combination of clockwork toy, centipede, and grain thresher screeched at him, waving what seemed like an endless supply of welding torches, buzzsaws, and thorned tentacles. Sark and Camasa rounded a corner, sprinting flat out, and the abomination crashed through the wall, burying half its length into the concrete. It _still_ wasn't dead, judging from the muffled screeching, but it wasn't going anywhere and that was enough.

Sark didn't seem to think so, though, since he was still running flat out, heading for the thing they'd been making for from the moment their squad had been slaughtered - the entrance out. Sark finally started to slow down as the double doors came into view, letting Camasa catch up to him. The other security officer smiled wearily. "See, Rose? Told you we'd-"

Sark's head disintegrated into red mist as a great force slammed into Carmasa's gut, throwing him to the ground. His legs, he couldn't feel his legs...he was...cold…

Carmasa closed his eyes, the last thing he ever saw the spreading puddle of red beneath him.

On top of the central tower of the Center, Carlos Hathcock of the Basilisks racked the bolt of his Mors-pattern rifle, loading another immense round, and resumed scanning for targets. The most heavily armed of the Cogs were flushing out the survivors, and there were plenty to choose from.

* * *

Viktor did not react in the slightest as the Wolves burst in, guns levelled and ready to fire. He didn't need to.

There was a rush of air, the sound of crumpling metal and choked-off screams, and the Wolves were corpses on the floor.

Viktor gave Grundy Elisha a nod of appreciation.

The big Demon Tribesman had come back from death largely unchanged, albeit a little more taciturn than usual. What had changed him most had been what Viktor had wrought on him _afterwards_. The work was not something like his cousin's - Viktor saw no benefit in pussyfooting around with something as...gentle...as the Augments.

Elisha was a far more useful tool, now.

"So your cousin finally decided to make his move," the resurrected man rumbled, scavenging weapons and ammunition from the dead. "What now?"

Viktor cocked his head. He wished he'd had more time than a couple weeks to work on these, but…

He strode to a locked cabinet, fiddling with the combination and opening the doors. Three metal briefcases waited. Viktor tossed two to Elisha, who caught them in one hand, and picked up the last for himself.

"I believe," he said evenly, "that it is time for a field test for Project Megingjörð. We should find Commander Horus, and quickly."

It would be the height of irony to set the security chief against the Butcher Bird, if the former was wearing this. And it would likely result in the latter dying, which made it even better.

* * *

Lumi Lavistin, once of the Eyetooth Pirates, now a Nightmare in blood and body and soul, suppressed a sigh as he walked into one of the passenger carriages of the train. His squad had had two Cogs with them - one a veteran from the old Gears, the other a new recruit...but they'd been caught by surprise by several of the Marines on board drawing first, and unfortunately it seemed the senior of the two mechanical geniuses _hadn't_ been one of those who could survive their meat-brain being sprayed across a four-square-meter area. The junior, one of the new recruits, seemed to be in shock.

Lavistin did not have time for that. "Kid," he growled, augmented vocal cords lending a rumble to it that no human could match. "Listen."

The kid didn't respond, face pale under the cowl of his red robe. Lavistin laid a hand on his shoulder, and the kid flinched, eyes fixing themselves on the visor of Lavistin's helmet.

"You alright, kid?" Lavistin asked.

The Cog nodded jerkily.

"Right," the Wolf growled. "Leave him," he said, nodding to the corpse. "Need you at the engine." He shoved the Cog in front of him, and despite stumbling the new recruit got moving.

The next two carriages in the train were littered with bodies and gore, the inevitable result of a platoon's worth of Marines trying to go up in close quarters against Wolves and Basilisks. They'd died bravely, but they'd still died, even if by sheer luck they'd managed to wound a couple of Lavistin's squad in the process. The Cog didn't look at any of the scenes of slaughter, eyes fixed straight ahead as he marched to the front of the train.

The engine room was the mechanical equivalent of the slaughterhouse the rest of the train had been, because the bastard engineer had managed to smash half the controls after starting the damn thing, and his swift and somewhat excessive execution had wrecked the other half.

"Can you get the brakes working?" Lavistin asked bluntly.

The Cog froze for a moment, then visibly twitched. "Can I- Can I- _What?!_ " The red-robed recruit pointed at a tangle of scrap that was even more thoroughly destroyed than the rest of the controls. "Those _were_ the brakes, and, and - oh god, we're on a train and we don't _have any brakes, what are we-_ "

"Kid."

The Cog froze again. "Right," Lavistin continued. "Second question. This thing's on a runaway course for Emory. If we can't use the brakes, we need another method of stopping it for good, and making sure the Marines can't make any use of it."

Something stuttered and clattered under the Cog's robe, before the new recruit nodded. "Maybe- Maybe if you pack some explosives on the boiler, it should breach it. If...we can get out of the way enough. I'll- I'll rig a detonator, or a timer. I think I can do that with what I have on hand."

"You have ten minutes," Lavistin warned, before picking up his transponder snail. "Right, you lot," he ordered. "Any breaching charges or spare hi-ex you've got, start packing it onto the boiler. We're going to make life difficult for some fuckers shortly."

Honestly, he hoped the worst-case version of Charlie Foxtrot was accurate, and whatever Marines were in Emory at the moment were pissed-off enough to hoof it through the snow back to the Center. Setting this thing off in the middle of a crowd would be...impressive.

* * *

Onneton Kusipaa directed his squad with short, sharp hand gestures. Those that had survived, at least.

It had gone to shit very, very quickly, the Wolf reflected. They'd been intending to seize the Port Roybal-to-CDRP train line. If they took the train, pursuit would've been impossible for the Marines - even the strongest of them couldn't make good time over multi-meter snow drifts like those in the mountains.

If.

His men had been in the worst possible place at the worst possible time against the worst possible opponent. Half of them had died in the opening moments, disoriented by the rain of blades and then cut down like so much chaff. The rest had followed Kusipaa into the station itself, and barricaded themselves in.

Taking the train was an impossibility. The only thing that remained was for them to buy time...and maybe, just maybe, _wound_ the Marine bastard who'd come after them.

Kusipaa levelled his heavy rifle at the doorway as another impact resounded, shifting the cargo crates and furniture they'd piled across the entrance. His men did the same.

Another impact. Then another, this one so strong that dust drifted from the ceiling. And then, for long moments, silence. Fingers tightened on triggers as the Wolves tensed, waiting for the enemy to appear.

Kusipaa ducked instinctively - some whisper of air, some sixth sense, warned him, instincts screaming as something _cut_ through the air like an immense guillotine, ripping through door and barricade and room and men with the same lack of difficulty.

Six transhuman bodies hit the dirt, followed shortly by six transhuman heads, and Kusipaa abandoned his cover in favor of charging forwards, firing his rifle on full automatic in one hand while the other reached for his belt.

He only made out a blur before he felt cold steel rip through his plate and out his back, puncturing a heart and a lung. The blur resolved itself into the sharp-featured figure of Rear Admiral Gripper as he twisted the katana inside Kusipaa. The Marine's long grey hair, Kusipaa noted incongruously, was tied up in a ponytail. The man's eyes were flint.

Kusipaa grinned a bloody grin inside his helmet, even as the katana slid to the side and neatly severed his second heart from its main artery. He held the grenade he'd plucked from his belt between him and the Marine, and as his vision faded appreciated the slight expression of shock he saw there.

There was a sudden spray of blood, and Kusipaa realized he couldn't feel that hand anymore.

His gaze followed the katana in the Marine's other hand, held out to the right in the overly dramatic way one only saw after it had finished disemboweling someone. Balanced on it was the grenade's fuse mechanism, neatly cut away from the explosive contents.

"Oh, fuck you," Kusipaa gurgled, and died.

* * *

The battleship, Tina knew, bore the name of _Destiny's Ascension._ It was a proud ship, a carrier of a thousand soldiers that was armed to the teeth and tough enough to resist cannon-fire from most anything on the seas thanks to its steel hull and solid construction. It was something that struck fear into the hearts of pirates everywhere.

And yet it only took six people to turn it into a slaughterhouse.

Tina's longaxe reaped a bloody harvest across the battleship's deck, the haft shattering limbs and skulls and the blade cleaving weapons and men alike, sending screaming and bleeding forms down to the deckboards with every stroke. Around her, her pack was doing the same, five of them with weapons in hand spilling the blood of the foe.

Pity the Boss couldn't be here, but that was the facts. Him and C were needed to draw eyes and fight the biggest guns. The Oni would handle the small fry, and let the _Ends_ slip away. It was a damn good thing the Wraiths had laid charges on the rest of the ships, though. Cracked-keel vessels couldn't pursue, and the _Ends,_ good as it was, needed to not be pursued if they all wanted to make it out of here.

Tina leaned her head to the side to avoid a musket ball, and Shaved up to the half-formed line of gunmen. Her axe turned that line into screaming meat, and she moved on as her brothers did the same.

Then an explosion practically blasted her off her feet, and she snarled and whirled to see the second of the two battleships, _which was supposed to be on the other side of the island_ , moving to intercept _Destiny Ascension_ , guns firing.

Hell, they'd already written this place off, then.

Tina heard Eka's howl, and she grinned, a thing of sharp teeth and retribution. The other ship wanted a fight?

 _They'd bring it._

Tina hefted her longaxe, hit the toggle on her mask, and laughed as the world went red.

* * *

Vinci tried to ignore the screams and gasps of dying men and women that rippled through the hallways as he walked forward.

He shut out the sound of the collapsing tower, of the dying cooks and cleaners and washermen who'd been bottled inside before being snuffed out in one titanic blast.

He walled away the sounds of gun and blade as they went about their grisly work.

It was all immaterial.

His crew came first, always, always, _always._ Nothing else mattered at the moment.

Not even the knowledge that this had been his fault.

…

" _Repeat that," Vinci said, glaring at the transponder snail as if it would cause the_ shriveled fools _on the other end to spontaneously combust._

 _At least Kaneki had already left to talk to Jack. Having_ him _here would make this so much worse._

" _Your orders are clear,_ Warlord _,"_ _the sack of shit on the other end of the snail said. "Bring the Butcher Bird to Mariejois, immediately. And leave him there. We will take custody of the creature."_

 _Vinci grinned, all knives and hate. "So, then, this is what you want. I suppose you won't tell me why?"_

" _You do not need to know, Warlord. Only obey."_

" _Yeah, obedience wasn't my strong suit." Vinci's arms slammed down on the table as he leaned in close to the terrified mollusc. "Go. Fuck. Yourselves. My crew is my own, not your playthings, Elder Stars."_

" _If you defy our orders, there_ will _be consequences."_

 _Vinci cocked his head. It was only a couple hours before the plan was supposed to kick off. They'd already be ready, knowing Jack. His grin broadened. "_ _Get thee gone, ancient thing of evil. I'll have no truck with thee or thine, not any longer,_ " _he_ spoke _, pushing power and will into every syllable._

 _The old man on the other end did not react. "So be it."_

…

He could have pretended to go along, Vinci supposed. But the _gall_ of trying to take his friend from him, the sudden surge of _hate_ he'd felt for the old man on the other end of the snail collection...he'd let his temper run away from him, and because of it others were paying the price.

Franz Josef's eyes bored into the back of Vinci's skull as he walked, the Companions surrounding the two of them as they moved through the hallways. This section of the central tower had already been cleared - the resistance would lie ahead, once the archives were breached.

He didn't blame the doctor, really. The poor bastard was a decent person, overall, and this was not decent work. Not in the slightest.

The baby transponder snail in his pocket buzzed, and Vinci pulled it out. "What?"

" _We have a problem,"_ Jack said flatly. " _The team sent to take out the Port Roybal train ran into Gripper before they could get to work."_

Vinci resisted the urge to curse. "They got slaughtered."

" _Yeah. Got a plan? Otherwise we're going to have a very pissed-off opponent after us, and I'm not sure even Kaneki can take him."_

Vinci nodded. "I'll take care of it. Keep managing everything else, bosun."

" _Already on it."_ Jack closed the connection, and Vinci closed his eyes, running through options as he kept walking.

They needed to engineer something that would divert Gripper's attention. The man would almost certainly be entirely focused on taking out the Nightmares. There was only one thing that would be higher priority than that.

All it required was that Vinci break another rule.

The crew was everything. That was all that mattered.

Vinci sighed, and opened another connection.

" _Yeah?"_ the Wraith on the other end asked.

"Worst-case scenario," Vinci ordered. "Have the Cogs reverse the white noise generators."

" _Aye, captain. We'll bugger out when it's done, link up with the Emory train crew."_

Vinci closed the connection as Franz Josef made a strangled sound behind him.

"What did you do?" the doctor snarled.

Vinci looked up, counting ceiling tiles. "Saved my crew, doctor," he said calmly.

"You had men interfering with the quarantine wall...you...you're going to…"

"Interfere with the white noise generators, causing them to destroy the symbiote organisms rather than keeping them intact. Yes. By the estimations of the Cogs, approximately ten thousand people will be close enough to be affected." Vinci rooted in his coat's pockets, found a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. "It will draw the eye of every Marine on the island."

"You will kill _thousands._ You've already doomed everyone who's going to be affected, but the toll if they get out…we were supposed to _cure_ these people!"

"No, doctor, that was what _you_ wanted," Vinci said quietly. "My job is to keep my crew alive. A task made rather more difficult if that Rear Admiral makes his way up here."

"You...you are a monster," Franz Josef said shakily.

Vinci turned to face the man, looming over him as he leaned on the haft of his scythe. "I am what I am, doctor," he said softly. "And I have no further need for you. I suggest you leave now."

The doctor, face pale, took a step back, then another. Then he turned and ran down the hallway, and Vinci sighed, before turning back to face their destination.

The guards were gone - dead or called elsewhere (and probably dead in that case too), he did not care - leaving the vault door unprotected. It had two brothers elsewhere on this floor, each of them an entrance to a shaft holding one of three immense cargo elevators.

At a nod from Vinci, the Companions set to work. Charges were placed, there was a flash of light and a strong smell of sulfur, and the vault door was hauled open by straining transhuman muscle...to reveal T-Bone, and two platoon's worth of Marines.

"Uncle," Vinci said flatly.

"Nephew," T-Bone said softly. "Why are you doing this?"

Vinci leaned on his scythe, and smiled. "Why is it that you're at all surprised I am?"

T-Bone's eyes narrowed. "Your parents would have wept to see you now."

"The same for you," Vinci snarled. "To see their killer still breathing, to see you working under him…"

"Sakazuki did as he did because he had to, nephew," T-Bone said, and Vinci bristled at the patient tone the Marine _dared_ use on him.

"So I'll do the same," he declared, pointing the blade of his scythe at T-Bone. "Get out of my way, uncle. There's a great deal I need to learn. I'll only ask once."

T-Bone drew his sword. "You will not pass while I breathe, nephew." The Marines levelled their weapons. Vinci cocked his head, then sighed. " _Second Gear."_

T-Bone lashed out in a picture-perfect cut as both sides opened fire, a keen blade of air that ripped a perfectly vertical stroke through where Vinci had been standing, but by then Vinci simply wasn't there anymore. He stepped back into reality an eyeblink later, scythe already in motion and crawling with electrical energy. " _Empirical Razor!"_

Bamboo and Vinci's scythe clashed. Two weeks ago, that was all they would have done, the blades evenly matched. But Vinci had not spent the two weeks of Kaneki's convalescence idle. None of the Nightmares had, but Vinci least of all.

One of the tricks he'd learned was to hold the gathered will and power that would normally be spent in projecting the blade in the scythe itself, concentrating it and leaving the weapon far superior to its normal state.

Bamboo, the blade that had been the pride of the 13th Royal Flotilla, snapped in two like a dry twig when faced with Vinci's swing.

Then his free hand grabbed T-Bone by the throat, and Vinci slammed the skeletal man into the floor so hard the concrete around them shattered. " _Dendric Spike,"_ Vinci snarled, and a pulse of electricity that could fry a Sea King's brain inside its skull ripped through T-Bone's body, stray bolts of lightning blasting the nearest Marines off their feet.

Vinci straightened back up slowly, leaning on his scythe. A quick glance confirmed that the sixty-odd Marines had already been dealt with by the Companions. He let out a breath, and gestured to the Companions to board the elevator. Generous of T-Bone, to bring the way down up for them…

A rustle of fabric was his only warning. Vinci turned back as T-Bone, face shadowed by his helm, got back to his feet, the shattered stump of Bamboo in his hand. Behind Vinci, the Companions tensed, but Vinci waved them off, watching T-Bone carefully. "I'm surprised you're capable of standing."

"My word...is my bond…" T-Bone growled. "Not...while I breathe…"

Vinci sighed. "You want to die that badly, uncle? Really? Is this how you want to go out? At the hands of a child who once loved you?" he asked.

"Whatever plans you have...cannot be allowed to succeed." T-Bone swayed on his feet, nearly stumbling, and Vinci fought the urge to support the older man. Instead, he laughed.

"You don't even know what my plans _are._ You want to know why I'm willing to go this far? To kill _you_?"

"It matters not."

"Oh, but it does, _uncle,"_ Vinci snarled. "I told the Commodore I wanted to cure death, and that much is true. But there's more to it than that. I want to see the power of the individual broken. I want to see those tyrants who abuse their gifts cut down by their own people. I want to turn mankind into a race of immortals, peerless in strength and enlightenment, beyond the petty tyranny of those who think they're strong...and the lore that's been locked away by those same tyrants will help me do it. Will help me make a better world. A _just_ world, where nobody need die for refusing to murder a child at the command of their superiors. Anything, _anything_ justifies that. So are you going to continue to try to stand in my way?"

For a moment, there was silence. T-Bone did not move, neither did Vinci.

"Von. Alex. I am sorry," the knight whispered. He lunged forwards, fast as thought.

Vinci was faster, and though Bamboo's shorn length carved a stinging line along one cheek, across the old scar inflicted by Kid, Vinci's palm slammed into T-Bone's chest, cracking the man's armor and the ribs beneath it and sending him hurtling back into the nearest wall. The Marine fell out of the crater, barely catching himself from falling to his knees, and rose again -

And a red, scaled tendril wrapped around his ankle, yanked him into the air, and slammed him down _hard._

T-Bone stayed down, and Kaneki walked through the entrance to the shaft. The Oni (no longer a ghoul, in Vinci's book) nodded, and Vinci returned the gesture.

He bent, picking up Bamboo's hilt, and weighed it in his hands. The blade's remains were far heavier than mere size would suggest - or maybe that was illusion borne of reputation. It went into the folds of his coat either way.

"Didn't think you were a swordsman," Kaneki remarked quietly as he joined Vinci and the two walked onto the broad expanse of the cargo elevator.

"I'm not," Vinci replied, as one of the Companions worked the controls and the structure began descending with a grind of gears and pulleys. "But he forfeited any claim to the blade when he worked for Akainu. I'll find a use for it."

"If you say so, Captain," the ghoul said, sitting cross-legged and pulling out his pipe. "Everyone's all over the place. I guess the plan where all the officers go into the archives in a group is shot?"

Vinci nodded. "They'll have to make their way on their own. Should be fairly easy."

"Don't jinx us, Captain."

Vinci chuckled at the Oni's superstition, and leaned on the haft of his scythe.

He was tired. So, so tired.

Just a little farther, though. And then, this would all be worth it.

Together, they descended into the darkness.


	87. Chapter 105

_Log One, Journal Four_

 _We lost a guard today._

 _He was eaten. Alive. By the volunteers._

 _What I have created...I understand it, now._

 _There is no hate, no evil, nothing malicious about them, now. They have been purged of imperfections, just as I have myself._

 _They are predators. Superior to humanity now, and growing stronger still. They are my children, pure potential waiting to be molded, all that they had been before stripped away so I can begin again. I know this, for I feel the same hunger they do._

 _My colleagues want to lock them away, they speak of errors and mistakes, but they are wrong._

 _I will free them. I will join them. And once those unwilling to accept the truth are removed...I can begin to work._

 _Log Two, Journal Four_

 _It is done. They could not stop us. All that remains on this island are me and my children. They bow to me. They know I lead them, and gave them their form._

 _More. This island has the facilities for it. I will create many._

 _I can improve on them. Their current forms are unfocused. Differing strains will be needed, differing conditions to survive in. Abilities, carried through the blood, memories nourished in it. Their lives will be encoded in the cells we sought to tame._

 _Log Three, Journal Four_

 _We cannot stay for long. Not enough food, though my children hunt the Sea Kings as they have learned to. I have improved upon them. They will hunt man and Sea King, the conquerors of land and ocean, and be superior to both. They will grow stronger, developing more and more with every bit of life they take from others. I can taste their futures in their blood._

 _But we must leave this place. The World Government will try to silence my genius, of that I am certain. This island is isolated and no call for help left these shores, but sooner or later, a ship will come._

 _My children and I alike will be long gone by then._

 _Log Four, Journal Four._

 _I leave these records as a testament to my work and my will. So that all will know._

 _Man does not rule any longer. My children shall scatter across the wide world, hiding in plain sight. They will be the predators that man fears._

 _Some will perish, but that is the way of nature. Others will grow strong._

 _And, one day, someone will rise among them to unite them all, and we will see a new world forged in blood and will, as my family has always worked towards._

 _This is Grigori Venator._

 _My children call me MIMIR, fond of names and masks as they are. I allow them to, for they need focus to remind themselves._

 _But I am myself._

* * *

The best way to describe the situation in Emory right now was 'complete SNAFU'.

Smoker had no idea what the noise that had ripped through the city had been, but it'd come from the walls, a piercing, keening note that quickly went past normal hearing range. And less than a minute after that, what seemed like half the damn city had gone berserk all at once.

Smoker had led his men back to the walls, fighting the entire way. It was only thanks to his Devil Fruit and Tashigi's blistering swordwork that they hadn't lost anyone - his men were well-trained, but the berserkers ignored rifle fire like they did most everything else, and stopping to aim for a killing shot had been a fancy way of committing suicide.

It was a damn near miracle nobody had been killed, though it'd been close, and out of the three hundred men Smoker had, near four dozen had been walking wounded. His hand itched for his jutte, but the damn thing was still being repaired (the wonders of _fucking_ red tape never ceased), and he'd been forced to make do with a cutlass.

He hated the damn thing, but it was better than nothing.

Smoker leaned against the battlements, watching the growing crowd below. The berserkers were practically throwing themselves at the walls, the weaker ones proving to just be fodder for carefully aimed rifle fire, but the stronger -

Movement caught his eye, and Smoker acted. " _White Cutter!"_ Smoker shouted, pouring smoke out his arm into a massive blade, and smashing the dozen-odd berserkers scrambling up the walls at lightning speed back down to earth. The smoke blade disintegrated a moment later, and Smoker slumped forwards, panting. He'd never used his powers this dramatically before, having to protect such a wide area. It took a lot of effort, needless to say, and it was only barely enough to keep the berserkers from getting up to the walls.

What Smoker didn't understand was why the berserkers weren't attacking elsewhere. The quarantine walls weren't heavily guarded, and they'd have had an easier time going literally anywhere else - but instead they threw themselves at him and his Marines. It was as if they could tell he and his men didn't have the plague, and wanted them dead for that.

Another blur of motion, and Smoker snarled as his Smoke Cutter was a fraction too slow, one of the berserkers leaping above the battlements -

" _Mist Cutter!"_

And falling back to the earth below in two pieces, as Tashigi sheathed her blade once again. Smoker gave his Ensign a nod, and she nodded back, scarred face a grim mask.

They couldn't keep this up for much longer, either of them. More and more were joining by the second even as he and Tashigi tired, and sooner or later the berserkers would get purchase on the wall...and that would be it.

If Smoker ever got his hands on whoever was responsible for this, he was going to-

More berserkers charged up the walls, nearly three dozen. Rifle fire dropped six, and Smoker's Smoke Cutter claimed twenty, but the rest reached the walls, and-

" _Sowing."_

 _Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-_

And fell back below as swords fell from the sky and struck them down like thunderbolts from the heavens. Smoker gaped for a moment, then turned as he heard a thump behind him.

Rear Admiral Gripper stood there, bundles of swords on his back, two more blades in his hands, and a blank expression on his face. "Commodore," the Marine commander said. "Situation."

"None dead on our side, and the berserkers seem to be concentrating on us, sir," Smoker rattled off - and yes, he would damn well call the man who'd just saved their hides sir. "What the hell's going on?"

"The Nightmare Pirates have elected to betray us," Gripper said tonelessly. "This is an attempt to divert me, so they can escape." The Rear Admiral paused, hands tightening on his katanas. "They will not," Gripper gritted out. "I will contain this situation. See to your men, and prepare to move for the Center the moment the fight here is finished."

Smoker saluted, and Gripper nodded, before picking up the chain-wrapped bundles of blades he carried and stepping up onto the battlements, surveying the horde below.

" _Harvest,"_ the Rear Admiral proclaimed as he stepped off the wall.

The next few minutes were an education in slaughter.

* * *

The corridors stank of blood and cordite, Lauren assumed.

Assumed, because the gas mask blocked out most everything. Which was necessary. It wouldn't do its job, otherwise.

She and her Ghosts moved through the corridors in silence.

Gunfire boomed. Poisoned blades flashed. Crossbow bolts sunk into flesh. Men choked and died on poison gas.

Her thoughts ran in circles as she went through the motions, Casull and Jackal gunning down security teams by the dozen.

It was a massacre, and it made gorge rise in the back of her throat to be part of it. But there was no choice. There _never_ was a choice. It was fight or die, and she did not intend to go out like some scared little child. She was well past that.

And so she fought and killed and struck terror into the survivors as she and her Ghosts hunted through the corridors like the Nightmares they were.

They came to an atrium, cleared out, and Lauren held up a fist to signal a halt. The Ghosts moved around and past her, fanning out to secure the area, and only when the leader of her personal unit nodded did Lauren remove her mask and breathe. The lingering smell of blood and spent ammunition reached her, and she took it in with every breath.

She was a Nightmare.

This was ugly, but it was work, and it was part and parcel of being part of the crew. Flinching from it was pointless.

She took her worries and fears and lingering doubts, held them tight. Locked them away, and all the emotions with them.

Lauren's breathing steadied, and her face went blank. She put her mask back on. She nodded to the Ghosts.

Then she tipped her head to the side as a rifle bullet ripped through where her head had been a moment ago, far too slow to hit her. The bullet ricocheted off the wall behind her, and bounced off walls and ceiling and floor, forcing the Ghosts away as each of them _stepped_ out of reality instinctively to avoid the round, which at last buried itself in the floor at Lauren's feet.

Lyudmilo Simo stepped out of the corridor in front of her, working the bolt on his rifle. Behind him, a squad of Marines levelled their own weapons.

"Pirate," Simo said coldly.

"Marine," Lauren replied flatly.

There were no other words between them. Nothing else could really be said.

Simo tracked and fired. The world slowed, and Lauren let out a breath through her gas mask, watching the bullet trundle through the air. She couldn't keep this up very long. She had to make use of it.

Her mind spun, calculating angles of the room's features even as she moved ever-so-slowly to bring her guns to bear. The bullet would miss, then three ricochets, cutting off her line of retreat to the left, preventing her from dodging...and Simo was already bringing his rifle up for another shot, achingly slowly to her altered perceptions.

And then there were the Marines, almost ready to fire, fingers beginning to tighten on triggers…

Lauren smiled behind her mask as Jackal and Casull lined up on the Marines behind Simo, and pulled the triggers as she began to move forwards. Her guns fired again and again, each shot sending another shell hurtling towards the nearly-frozen ranks of Marines, until they snapped open over empty chambers. Lauren checked the angles, then double-checked, and then let reality resume its normal flow. The Marine line behind Simo disintegrated into a cloud of blood. Simo's bullet whipped past her cheek, bounced off two walls, and came at the perfect angle to gutshot her, but she'd seen its path and instead it passed in front of her abdomen harmlessly. The second bullet came a moment later, and Lauren was forced to duck as it came at the wrong angle - somehow, _somehow_ , he'd seen her dodge and changed where he was aiming. She hissed as the second round clipped her shoulder on the rebound, but the wound was shallow, and she was already in motion, ejecting the magazines of her pistols and reloading as she ran. Another bullet, and she let the world slow for just long enough to calculate its path and adjust her course, feeling a headache start to pound in her temples as the strain of her twin abilities took their inevitable toll. Her pistols rose -

And her world became a storm of lead.

* * *

Herman watched as one of his Huscarls was thrown out of place, the shield-wall collapsing as the security officer's outsized meteor hammer smashed through it. None of the Huscarls were really _hurt_ , all of them hitting the ground and springing to their feet with grace men their size in armor really shouldn't have possessed, but it broke their formation long enough for more security officers to pour in and engage in close quarters, and these guys weren't the cannon fodder from earlier.

Herman sighed as the entrance to the elevator they'd been guarding turned from a neat little killbox into a complete brawl, Huscarls and the most vicious of the Cogs duking it out with the toughest customers World Government security had to offer. His eye caught every detail of the fights, including how -

" _Know the name of your killer, pirate, for it is-"_

Herman grabbed the idiot who had tried to get behind him by the back of the head, without so much as turning his own. He introduced said idiot's face to his armored kneecap, and by extension, the idiot's nose to his brain stem. He dropped the corpse, and chuckled as he saw Gin grab hold of the meteor hammer's chain and use it to yank the wielder off his feet and into a vibration-enhanced tonfa blow that buried the man in the concrete floor. The rest of the security officers joined their fellows a moment later, and the line reestablished itself.

Honestly, Herman wasn't really sure why the oldest and most murder-happy of the Cogs followed Gin around like a pack of wolves, but everyone seemed to have their own little cliques these days, so it was fine. They were terrifying, hooded figures in red robes that seemed to have an endless number of weapons, but again, it was fine. Wasn't like they were that much more scary than the rest of the Nightmares.

Herman cocked his head as his hearing picked up the sound of footsteps in the corridors outside. Two pairs, slightly different lengths in the stride. Too light to be Wolves or Cogs, too heavy to be Wraiths or Basilisks. Which left...more opponents. He grinned ferally, and motioned for the shield-wall to split, walking through the gap with a swagger. Gin joined him a moment later, the thin man's eyes intent on the entrance.

"Two of them," Herman grunted. "One for each?"

After a moment, Gin nodded, tonfa beginning to spin.

The footsteps drew closer and closer, and then, at last, the two came into view. Two men, in strange, red-black armor, that seemed more like someone had tried to sculpt muscle than actually make useful plate...and while one wore a helmet that obscured his features, Herman recognized the other.

"Viktor," he growled, lips drawing back from his teeth. So the team sent to kill the bastard had failed, then. "I suppose you're here to fight, then?"

"I doubt that allowing your pack of murderous idiots to pillage would be-"

Viktor stopped talking at that point, because his head was a rapidly expanding cloud of red mist and bone fragments.

Herman gave the Huscarl responsible a thumbs-up without turning his gaze from the remaining armored man...or the still-standing _oh what the hell._

Herman watched in horrified fascination as the armor on Viktor's body... _flowed_ upwards, red-black tendrils of fake muscle forming a head-sized lump, and then retracting to reveal Viktor's smug, smiling face.

"Now, where was I?" the scientist said.

Herman pointed a finger at him. "I don't know what abomination of nature you just made," he said flatly. "But I'm going to enjoy seeing if I can cut it apart."

Viktor smiled nastily. "You're welcome to try."

Herman leapt forwards, Amakatta swinging for Viktor's neck, only for the other armored bastard to get in the way, blocking with a shield made of the same creepy shit. The armored bastard raised a warhammer in his other hand, and Herman pulled back to block it, the impact rattling his bones. He grinned. "You're a tough customer, huh?" he muttered, even as his eye watched Gin and Viktor engage, matching armored fists against tonfa.

Herman took another step back, sizing his opponent up. Taller than him at the moment, about eight feet. Armor didn't have weak points to exploit, judging from how well that shield had held up, and Herman would bet this bastard could pull the same trick Viktor had if Herman got through the armor.

He grinned widely. "You're a tough customer, aren't ya? What's your name, big man?"

"Grundy," the big guy grunted.

Herman nodded, and changed. Bones and muscles stretched, fur sprouted, and claws grew, and at the end of it, Herman stood taller than the big man. "Let's see what you're made of, Grundy," Herman growled.

He lunged forwards with a howl.

* * *

Vinci ran through the seemingly endless stacks of papers and books that formed the archives, barely keeping Kaneki in sight as the ghoul sprinted with inhuman speed.

He had no idea _what_ had gotten into his first mate, but the moment the elevator had gotten out of the shaft and into the archives proper - an endless labyrinth of records and crates and sealed-off rooms - the Oni had sniffed the air and _immediately_ leapt off the platform, wings catching the air and sending him hurtling through the air. Vinci had followed him an instant later, trying to keep up as best he could and trusting the Companions to catch up, but Kaneki was moving at insane speeds, and with every second ticking by the ghoul pulled further ahead…

Vinci stopped suddenly, and smacked himself upside the head in realization. He didn't _need_ to chase after Kaneki. He leaned on his scythe, getting his breath back, and then closed his eyes, letting his senses extend outwards. Kaneki's presence finally slowed, then stopped, near the edge of the archives, where Vinci had glimpsed massive vault doors.

The sound of tearing metal echoed through the stacks, and Vinci smiled before _stepping_ out, re-emerging right outside of the shattered remnants of one of those vault doors. He went inside, stepping over debris.

The first thing he noticed was heat. Worse than the heat of the lava chambers deep beneath the Spice Archipelago, it seemed to suck the breath out of Vinci's lungs as it radiated from the frozen, _furious_ Oni standing in the center of the vault, where several books laid open on a collection of tables.

The second thing he noticed was the tanks lining the walls, and the dim shapes floating in the off-yellow preservative fluid that filled them.

Kaneki turned in place, and smiled gently.

Behind him, his tails appeared in an instant, and smashed through the tanks in a single blurring motion. Vinci caught the slightest glimpse of their contents before the tails crushed them in their coils, and the thought sickened him, but Kaneki…

Kaneki was still smiling. The red glow of his eyes spilled out past the round little lenses of his sunglasses, and the concrete under his feet was beginning to char, but he was still smiling. "I think, Captain," the Oni said, in a calm, almost cheery tone, "that I will be of more help in the defense. You should read this. It's quite _interesting._ "

Kaneki's tails disintegrated, and the Oni walked past Vinci, humming something off-key under his breath.

Vinci watched him go, and then turned to the tables and books. He'd seen what had been in those preservation tanks. That alone would've been enough to make Kaneki furious...but he'd _never_ seen something like this.

He began to read, flicking through pages at lightning speed. Until he came to the end.

 _This is Grigori Venator._

 _My children call me MIMIR, fond of names and masks as they are. I allow them to, for they need focus to remind themselves._

 _But I am myself._

Vinci sat down hard. His ancestors. They had...the _fools._

But then, this vault...he paused, and picked another book from the table at random. This one was a list of names, each with a status next to them.

ASTERIUS. Deceased.

CHIRON. Deceased.

BALDIR. Deceased.

JORMUNGANDR. Destroyed.

KISHI. Deceased.

EMPUSA. Deceased.

HIPPOGRIFF. Deceased.

TYR. Deceased.

ASENA. Destroyed.

NINGYO. Deceased.

ABADDON. Deceased.

KAPPA. Deceased…

On and on and on it went, hundreds of names recorded in the book, each of them labeled as Deceased or Destroyed. All save a few.

GUOLAO was one, labelled as Captured.

And then there were seven others. Six were labelled as 'Missing, Presumed Deceased': APOLLYON, COYOTE, DAGON, LOKI, LUCIFER, PRETA.

And the last, labelled as 'Missing, Presumed Destroyed': NIDHOGGR.

Vinci set the tome down, and picked up another. He needed to know, he needed to find out what had _happened._

Words passed in a blur as he read, burning themselves into his mind.

On a distant island, nearly a century and a half ago, one of his family had been part of a project - a fairly simple one, aimed at figuring out how and why some people were so much stronger than others. Their efforts had led them to find C-Cells, and to figure out how to grow them and create them. But their methods had been flawed, making unstable cells that wouldn't last without taking in stable equivalents from normal people...and Venator had gone mad, driven to such by his own self-implantation of the first ghoulish organs. The laboratory personnel had been slaughtered, and it had taken so long in those times to reach the island that by the time the Marines had gotten there, Venator had been gone, leaving only a horde of monsters and malformed creatures that attacked the Marines on sight. The island had been destroyed in the battle, some ancient Admiral taking part in the conflict, and the hunt for Venator and his creations had begun. Across the world, that hunt raged, records altered and witnesses silenced afterwards to keep word from spreading, but one by one, each of the ghouls had been run to ground and killed by their hunters. Until thirty-eight years ago, no sign of them had been seen.

And then, thirty-eight years ago, and then again fourteen years later, more had appeared. One had appeared on some old pirate crew, the Rocks Pirates, and gone up against both Garp the Hero and Gol... _what._

Vinci paused, and scanned the document again, before letting out a breath. Whatever the Rocks Pirates had been, the _Pirate King_ had teamed up with _Garp the Fist_ to take them down, and the ghoul on that crew - GUOLAO - had been captured. Not killed, but for whatever reason, the record didn't say. The other names on the list had been altered to 'Presumed Deceased' after that. Fourteen years after the Rocks Pirates, another incident had occurred, with a ghoul named ABADDON being dealt with by the Pirate King alone - only recorded here because Garp had come across the evidence of the titanic battle afterwards.

And the team that had investigated that evidence…

Vinci's breath caught as he read the reports, the cold, clinical descriptions of what they'd been able to assess from the remnants of technology and ancient structures, and the twin names appended to the end of that report.

 _Grigori Alexandra, and Grigori Von._

Vinci sat limply in his chair as puzzle pieces began to fit together, the King's Heart thundering in his chest. Small wonder his family's lore had fit so well with his studies of Kaneki, to create it. They had come from the same source, after all.

The World Government had made monsters. And worse, failed to destroy them. Killer, and the memories Kaneki carried, meant that somehow, some few had evaded destruction, and hidden away in the shadows, letting the decades take their toll and the Government's own need for secrecy bury their existence until they'd been nearly forgotten.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. But instead, he sat there in a trance, thoughts running the same old tired course, wondering if Kaneki would dare to trust him again, or if the Oni would hate him for the blood in his veins...until a hand fell on his shoulder, and he started and turned to face the armored helm of one of the Companions.

"Captain?" the Augment asked carefully.

Vinci stood, feeling a weight of years he didn't truly possess in his bones. "Collect everything in this room," he ordered sharply. "Bring it to the entrance, make sure it's somewhere visible." He paused. "I'm going to see what's in the other vaults."

"Understood, Captain."

* * *

C was having _fun._

"Oh god, please, have mer-"

 _Crunch._

He was the only Nightmare here, but that was okay. They didn't need anyone else to guard this elevator. C was enough.

After all, it wasn't like anyone could actually stop him at the moment. Weapons were just more stuff for his powers to use.

His blue blade-tails blocked a fusillade of rifle fire, before lancing out with a swing of his arm and slicing a man with a wooden club in half. They grabbed the remnants, breaking them down in an instant, and C smiled viciously behind his mask as the rest of the humans quailed at the sight.

They were enemies. Simple.

They died. Simpler still.

C laughed as he reached outwards with his powers, and called steel and iron to him, then sent them crashing back. Security people scattered and ran.

C cocked his head as he heard something coming up the elevator shaft behind him. Weren't they supposed to send things up? This sounded like wing...beats…

Oh, Brother wanted to get in on the fun. C grinned, and with a wave of his hand buried the swords and guns he'd collected in the concrete, marking out a line. Nobody made a move to take them back. C yawned, and yanked the remnants of the vault door, rearranging the debris into a chair to sit on as Brother's wingbeats drew closer. He made it one with a really high back and good armrests. Might as well be comfy while Brother got his turn.

Brother stepped out onto the platform, feet leaving scorch marks on the concrete as his coat fluttered behind him like a cape. His mask was on, and C could see his eyes burning behind his sunglasses. Oh. Someone had made Brother really mad.

Had someone gotten onto the _Ends_ and hurt Six and the Oni?

Brother looked at C, and gave him a nod. " _Butcher's Feathers,"_ he said in a dead, cold voice.

And then his wings lashed forwards with a hundred cracks, and the security personnel's lines disintegrated into chaos as a hundred projectiles lanced through them.

" _Detonate,"_ Brother intoned, and C's hair was swept back as the shockwaves buffeted him and the screaming was cut off. The room shook with the blasts.

Brother stalked onward, crystal already regrowing along his batlike wings to replace what had been lost, and C leaned forwards in his seat to watch. Seeing Brother fight was always _interesting._

Something came hurtling out of the smoke, and Brother sidestepped it, letting it crash into the wall behind him, wings already shifting back to tendrils. An armored figure pulled itself out of the crater it'd made in the wall, red-black stuff shifting over its body as it hefted a big black staff. C paused. Oh. That was Horus.

"You are supposed to be unconscious," Brother said, in that very very calm voice that made every part of C suddenly want to hide under a table.

"Yeah, well, you're supposed to be on our side," Horus said, voice made echoing by the weird, almost skull-like helm he wore. C tried to twist it, but found his powers couldn't touch the armor, as if it wasn't made of metal at all. "Guess we're both doing things we aren't supposed to. _Guillotine Staff!"_

Horus rushed forwards at insane speed. Brother's eyes just blazed red.

" _ **Concordance. Three Point Strike.**_ "

The sound made the room shake even more, and when the smoke cleared, there was a very large hole in the opposite wall, and Brother's arm was a steaming skeleton. After several seconds, it began to grow back, and Brother turned back to C. "Deal with the rest," he said coldly. "Horus is still alive. I will keep him away from everyone else." With that, he was gone.

C pondered this for a moment.

Brother was really, really, _really_ mad.

Some poor idiot had probably actually hurt Six, the Oni, or maybe the Captain.

C almost felt bad for them.

He looked back at the gradually clearing smoke, and sniffed the air as the mingled scents of more security people and Marines began to draw closer. Something was almost...familiar.

A relatively short guy with a weird bowl hairdo and a Marine coat stepped out of the smoke, glaring at C like he'd killed his best friend. Which C hadn't done. Probably. It was either him or Brother, and neither of them cared enough to be precise, so who knew. The familiar scent got stronger.

"Monster," the Marine guy said, before starting in on a lot of insults and yelling that C ignored. He was too busy trying to figure out what the weird smell was. Where had he smelled it before…?

" _DIE! Riptide Crush!"_

All of the things C had shoved in the ground pulled themselves towards him, and C nodded, jumping into the air to avoid the hail of weapons that wrecked his poor fancy chair. He landed right in front of Short Bowl Hair Guy. "Didn't I eat you already?" he asked, finally remembering where that scent came from - that annoying guy who'd ruined his suit back on the Archipelago. "How'd you come back?"

"DIE!"

"Well that's just rude."


	88. Chapter 106

_What is the limitation of strength?_

 _It is not found in muscle or bone alone - though great strength can be found in both. If it was, such absurd feats of prowess documented across the world would not be possible - no man can lift multiple tons while being slender as a reed._

 _So what allows them to?_

 _Will._

 _Will allows one to strike intangible objects. Will allows one to divine futures. Will allows one to conquer the weak-minded. These three avenues are named_ Ambition _, Haki, Mantra, or a hundred other names depending on origin and dialect. But they are a limited exploration of application._

 _Will also grants enormous strength. The stronger the ambition, the greater the power. Every cell of one's body bows to the grand ambitions of the mind driving it, bows to the purity of purpose...and monstrous power is the result._

 _Shatter a man's will to fight, shatter their ambition, and they will be weakened. Those who do not believe in victory by strength of arms will remain weak, no matter their ambitions._

 _The question remains, though:_

 _If will can grant such absurd strength, such gratuitous abilities...why, then, must it be limited to Haki and strength of arm?_

 _Why not see what can be done with will alone, to bend reality to one's own ambitions? Devil Fruits allow something of this, violating physical laws in accordance with the will of the user. But they are merely a conduit._

 _If someone possesses sufficient ambition and power, could they not exercise that will in different ways? What would be the limitations? Would there even be any?_

 _And what would we call someone, for whom reality bends?_

 _-From the private writings of Grigori Von_

* * *

Marine Lieutenant Splinter Granat peered through the drifting snows as he and his men slogged on on foot. This pass through the mountains, which the railway typically used, was the only way to the Center, and the train that was supposed to go through it wasn't around. He and his platoon were the scouting party, while the rest of the Arlen base's Marines were further back, and the newcomers that the Rear Admiral had pulled out of the fire were bringing up the rear.

It was slow going, it was cold, and everything seemed to slowly eat away at him, to the point where Granat was pretty sure he could see the light at the end of the tunnel...wait.

Granat's blood ran even colder than it already had been as he realized what the growing light was. "OFF THE TRACKS!" he screamed at his men. "INCOMING TRAIN!" He dove to the side as the Marines scattered, and then just like that the train was on them. Granat laid in the snowbank he'd landed in and waited for his heart to settle as the train thundered on. Was that the Nightmare's work? What did they hope to accomplish? It wasn't like it could hurt anyone, if they kept off the tra-

As with dozens of Marines that day, the last thing Granat felt was pain and searing heat, followed by nothingness.

Several hundred meters away, Lumi Lavistin lowered the binoculars from his eyes and gave the Cog apprentice an approving grunt. The detonators the kid had rigged up had worked nicely. Granted, they hadn't triggered an avalanche, but that was more the Marines having kept the mountainsides clear of those sorts of big drifts that could easily take out the tracks. Cracking the boiler had taken most of his squad's breaching charges and grenades, but it'd turned the scouting company into a pile of dead and people who wished they were.

"What now, sir?" the Basilisk attached to their squad asked as Lavistin handed him the binoculars.

The Wolf considered, watching the distant forms of the Marines act like a kicked anthill. "Get the rest of the charges set further up. We'll bleed them every step of the way."

"No retreat," the Basilisk said grimly.

"We wouldn't make it if we did. Let's take as many of the government's dogs with us as we can."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Simo started at the fading clouds of smoke, heaving for breath. That'd been way, way, _way_ too close. The Marine Ensign tried not to fall to his knees as the adrenaline running through his veins gradually receded. He listened with half an ear as the Gatling gun crews that had been preparing their ambush reloaded, the paper decoy wall sections they'd used to conceal themselves having worked perfectly. If only they had fired faster, maybe…

Simo shook his head. It didn't make sense. Why the hell had they been ordered to arrest the Nightmares? This whole thing had only started because the pirates were fighting like, well, _pirates_ , and they'd been acting nice enough before. Maybe.

But he'd seen Lauren. Talked with her, laughed with her, played at card games and dice and silly, overly dramatic contests of skill at the rifle, but now...she hadn't been like that at all. All that'd been left was a cold, merciless killer. She'd cut down everyone in complete silence. Was that what she was really like? Had the friendliness been an act?

Or had she been she like him, trying to hide the confusion as she fought as viciously as possible?

It didn't matter. She couldn't have dodged that many bullets, no matter what she'd done earlier. Too many rounds, it was impossible…

The smoke thinned, and Simo tensed as he expected to see the corpse of someone he'd called a friend...only to see nothing but bullet holes. What…

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

Simo got halfway in turning before he felt cold pressure against the back of his head. That turn was enough to let him see the Gatling crews, all of whom were being held at knifepoint by shrouded figures. He turned his head back slightly, until he could make out Lauren out of the corner of his eye. That, and the hand-cannon she was pointing at his head.

"I thought you once told me your Captain couldn't make the Augments give more than one ability," he said carefully, tightening his grip on his rifle.

Lauren shrugged. "I lied."

"Hm." Simo ducked and spun, and promptly lost all hearing in his right ear as the gun in Lauren's hand went off right next to it, but the butt of his rifle came up and smacked Lauren in the jaw, sending her staggering back. He tuned out the screams as the Ghosts took the time to slaughter the other Marines, focusing only on her. Because that was his duty and his orders. She swung an arm, trying to bring a pistol to bear, and he caught it on the barrel of his rifle, holding the weapon like a quarterstave as he swung a leg behind her own and tried to bring her down to grapple. She twisted like an eel, and Simo felt his teeth click together as she slammed an elbow into his jaw, breaking free of the hold and knocking his rifle out of his hands as she did so. A kick slammed into his chest a moment later, launching him off his feet and down the hall, until a wall broke his fall. For several moments, all he could do was lay there, waiting for the stars to clear from his vision. He could hear the sounds of battle below him, and see where the floor ended a few feet away. Oh. He'd nearly fallen down the elevator shaft. That wouldn't have been good.

Footsteps drew closer, and Simo struggled to get back on his feet, groping for his sidearm. Just before his fingers closed on it, he felt a strong hand seize him by the throat and slam him into the wall. Simo felt warm blood run down the back of his head. "Don't," Lauren warned quietly. "Just...don't. Give up. _Please._ "

Simo tried to focus on her, her face swimming in his vision. He smiled as he placed his feet against the wall. "Sorry, _kulta_ ," he said softly. "Not allowed."

He lunged forwards, holding on to her, and rolled to the side to pull her with him, over the edge and into the elevator shaft.

They fell.

* * *

Grundy Elisha frowned behind his helm as his opponent's two-handed blow cut through his shield and clipped his shoulder, spilling blood. The living armor would fix the minor injury shortly, but his opponent's strength was almost unreal. The Zoan didn't seem to care if he lived or died, and though his guard was hilariously open, it didn't matter - the pirate's attacks made sure Elisha couldn't exploit any of those openings.

This made matters difficult. He hadn't wanted to resort to the trump card so early. It seemed almost like a lack of faith in Viktor's work.

Ah, well. Elisha dropped the shield, and blocked the pirate's next blow with the haft of his warhammer, straining to hold back the immense blade. "You're strong," he commented.

"And you're no weakling, either," the Berserker Hound growled. "Good choice of weapon, too. But…"

"Time to end this," Elisha finished, as he reached out, touching the presence in the back of his mind that was the living armor Viktor had gifted him with. " _Megingjörð. Awaken."_

The armor bit deep. The world went _red_ , and Elisha laughed.

* * *

Newton Akira was absolutely goddamn terrified.

He jumped to the side as he saw the creature's arm-tendrils coil around each other again, reaching out with his Devil Fruit and yanking as hard as he could. Its strength was enormous, and the arm barely budged, but it was just enough that the spike of molten metal it launched just battered Akira with the wind of its passing rather than ripping through him.

"Hey, you're being really quiet? Do you not know how to talk?" the creature jibed, in a deceptively innocent tone. Akira clenched his fist. " _Crushing Whirlpool!"_ he shouted, _pulling_ every single loose weapon in the room towards the creature. Most of them stopped, caught by the creature's power, but a few bits and pieces not made of metal got through regardless, pummelling it. It wouldn't be enough, it never was enough.

If Akira had known that eating the Pull-Pull Fruit would've gotten something as implacable as this monster interested in him, he never would've touched the thing, even if ordered. But at least the creature was focusing on him, and all the other soldiers could fall back without getting completely slaughtered at a whim.

The creature's arm-tendrils shattered the wooden pieces in an instant. Beyond some rips in its three-piece suit, it was unharmed. It snarled. "I _liked_ this suit."

There was a grinding noise from deep within the elevator shaft, and Akira watched in horror as the entire cargo elevator slowly hovered into view, lifted by the creature's power. The massive construct kept rising, trailing severed connectors and twisted metal from where it'd been wrenched free of its mountings, and the creature smiled.

Then two people fell from above, landing on the elevator with a noise that made Akira wince.

"Oh. Hi, Lauren!" the creature said brightly.

A faint groan came from the landing spot, and a heavily tattooed arm rose and made a rude hand gesture in the creature's direction.

The creature turned back to Akira, black-and-red eyes glowing. "Okay, was gonna do a big thing, but I really don't want to drop her, so I'm just going to kill you and eat you again, okay?"

Akira responded by using his powers to pull the creature into the elevator shaft, and then pull it down as hard as possible.

"Hey, no fair!"

* * *

Jack considered the situation carefully.

Beyond Lavistin's group in the pass, everyone had fallen back to the central tower, where fighting was still raging. The surviving security personnel and whatever Marines T-Bone had originally brought didn't much feel like trying their luck against entrenched opposition, but they'd been sending in stronger fighters to make up for it. Not enough to match the Nightmares as a crew, but Herman and Gin were fighting hard, and Kaneki was taking on Horus - however the hell the man had been awake with so much tranquilizer in him.

Jack had obliged the Marines anyway, pulling the Nightmares back bit by bit in the face of 'overwhelming' force. They'd only lost a few men thus far, and he intended to keep it that way. Besides, they had an escape plan, and the chokepoints at the elevator shaft he was in was enough to keep the enemy away while the cargo elevator ferried men down to help the Captain in whatever he was planning.

The vault door, put back up and jammed into place by a dozen-odd Wolves after the Captain had passed through, shuddered under a titanic blow, and Jack frowned, picking up his hammer. He ran his thumb over the arming mechanism as the door shuddered again, and the Wolves of his unit readied their weapons.

Jack cracked his neck, striding in front of the lines with hammer in hand, as the door dented inwards, and then sagged, pushed past the wedge. Three massive, animalistic heads pushed through, bristling with teeth and horns.

Jack smiled, and hit the button on his hammer. The Thunder Dial in the hammer-head engaged, wreathing the weapon with lightning.

He charged.

* * *

Security Sergeant Hikaro smiled thinly as the sounds of anguished screaming drifted through the torn-open vault door.

The Three Beasts, they called them. Each of them a Zoan user - Crocodile, Springbok, and Lion - and together, the three of them could even take Akira Horus in a straight fight. Whatever the traitorous bastards had on the other side wouldn't be enough to save them. Which the screaming indicated aplenty.

Then the vault door was blasted out of its position, crushing half a dozen men who were too slow to react, and Hikaro gaped as he saw the massive, unmoving form of the Springbok on top of it. The Zoan's head had been crushed. What had -

 _Thoom._

Hikaro turned as a colossus in armor strode through the opening, hammer in hand and dripping with blood. In its other hand, it dragged the Lion by the scruff of its neck, the Zoan user battered into unconsciousness or death.

A roar came from behind the colossus, and Hikaro felt hope as he saw the Crocodile lunge forwards, jaws closing on the colossus - nothing withstood the crocodile's jaws.

Nothing, it seemed, except for the colossus, for an instant after the jaws shut, there was a muffled boom and the Crocodile collapsed, bleeding from the eyes. The gore-drenched colossus walked out of the immense jaws without so much as a look back.

Hikaro did the smartest possible thing.

He ran.

* * *

Viktor tried to not snarl in frustration as the damnable pirate evaded his blow yet again, a return stroke from the tonfas rattling his body. No, no, _control._ He couldn't let the Revenant know he was getting to Viktor.

The situation was rapidly becoming problematic. Megingjörð was a prototype, and while its healing capacity was tremendous...most of what it could do safely had already been spent. Because he had been stupid and, dare he say it, arrogant. And the Revenant's strikes were pushing the remainder of the healing capacity further into the red with every blow, threatening to rupture Viktor's organs as the vibrations coursed through his body.

He knew if he could land a blow, that the Revenant wouldn't be continuing to fight. But every attempt was either evaded, or turned into a trap of tonfas and submission holds - the last had threatened to snap his arm in half, only the Megingjörð's granting of enhanced reflexes letting him evade that trap.

The situation was becoming...problematic.

Then he heard a shout, and a flying body smashed the Revenant aside, before Grundy Elisha stomped past, his Megingjörð glowing a bright red. He'd been forced to use the overdrive, then. Oh, well, at least he would survive it. Now, what to do next…

Viktor blinked at the large crowd of Augments that were all staring at him. "Oh, dear."

They charged.

Viktor assessed the odds, and took the most reasonable course of action. " _Megingjörð!"_ he shouted. " _Awaken."_

His creation carved itself into his veins with unending hunger, and Viktor laughed.

* * *

Horus levered himself out of the crater he'd formed with a grunt, shaking masonry off his armor. He eyed the daylight trickling through the hole above him, and whistled. That looked like at least three floors he'd gone through, and the wall to boot.

And he hadn't even felt it. Nice.

Okay, he'd felt the blow. Ow.

Shit, he _knew_ he was faster than Kaneki, even without the armor - but the ghoul had still managed to hit him dead center, _somehow_. That was some crazy kind of reaction time…

Horus frowned.

It really sucked that they had to fight. Kaneki was the type of opponent who didn't go down easily. Then there was the fact that, so long as Kaneki was still standing, Horus couldn't deal with the _actual_ monsters. C...the longer this fight here lasted, the more time the other ghoul had to slaughter Marines and base security, and Kaneki would fight tooth and nail to protect him. So they had to fight, even if Kaneki, by himself, was the _last_ person Horus actually wanted to take on.

He knew that Kaneki would be coming after him. The guy was thorough, at least.

Sure enough, the second that thought passed through his brain, the light drifting from the hole in the tower was snuffed out for a moment, and Kaneki hit the floor below with an impact that shook the poor building. The ghoul straightened, wings crooking around him, and glared at Horus. His eyes...they looked a lot like they had when they'd first fought, slit pupils in an iris that practically seemed on fire.

"Are you going to give up?" Kaneki ground out. "Because I'm only offering that once."

Horus frowned. "And what're you going to do if I do?"

"Finish this fight."

"I don't think I can, Kaneki."

" **Fine, then,** " the ghoul growled as the heat reached oven-like temperatures, wings twitching forwards as he crouched. Horus held out a hand. "Wait, wait," he said pleadingly. "Just...what the hell is going on? I wake up and there's a full-blown war going on and a creepy scientist telling me to put on living armor, and now you guys and my guys and the Marines are trying to kill each other! I don't...I don't know what the hell's happening, and I _don't want to fight you._ Just keep you from killing anyone else. So, please, tell me what's happening, so I can try to keep anyone else from dying that doesn't have to." He set the Blackstaff down, carefully laying the ancient weapon on the floor. "Please."

Kaneki went very, very still, a hundred different emotions playing across his face. " **You know nothing,"** the ghoul growled, over a dozen voices seeming to speak at once, ever-so-slightly out of sync. " _ **Nothing**_ **, of what is happening and why. Of what lies beneath these halls."**

"Then _tell me,_ " Horus pleaded. "So I can make it right."

" **Nineteen,"** the ghoul answered, finally. " **Nineteen lives, hunted and killed. Men, women, children, monsters and saints, killers and pacifists. Nineteen of my kind, run down like dogs, cut apart and studied after they'd been made by** _ **your rulers**_ **. Even the kindest of them received no mercy, because the crime that earned them death was not murder, but the mere fact of their existence. They are dead, but their blood was the currency of their soul, and I have inherited their memory. They all had names.** _ **We all**_ **have names. To mark us, to give voice to our gifts, each unique, just as with the masks we wear to hide ourselves from the world. And mine…"** The ghoul crouched, heat shimmering off him in a haze. " **Mine is NIDHOGGR, the Devouring Wyrm. That which I devour is mine forevermore, fuel for my fire. And now...nineteen lives want their vengeance."**

Horus took a step back from the heat, sweating underneath the helm. "But...wait. The archives weren't broken into until after the fight started. So...that doesn't explain why this all started."

Kaneki cocked his head. " **You want the answer to that, ask Franz Josef what the plague in Emory truly is. I do not care. I will rip and tear, until it is done and my soul is silent at last. Will you surrender?"**

Horus stomped his foot, cracking the floor and sending the Blackstaff spinning through the air. He caught the weapon, and took up a stance. "No. I can't let you hurt anyone else. That's not how justice works."

" **There** _ **is**_ **no justice. Only justifications,"** Kaneki rumbled. His wings _cracked_ , and a hail of shards leapt forth. Horus dodged or deflected them, closing the distance in an instant, only for Kaneki to leap upwards, dodging the Blackstaff as he used his wings to claw for altitude. Another hail of shards hit the ground around Horus as he leapt up to meet the ghoul. " _Ursa Crash!"_ Staff collided with wing as he lashed out in a strike that was far faster than anything he'd used in the arena. How the _hell_ was Kaneki reacting that fast?

The blow launched the ghoul downwards, and he left a hole in the floor. Horus let gravity take him, and fell through it, staff spinning to deflect a tail strike that tried to strike him as he landed - too slow, way too slow. With the armor helping, it was easy to deflect the follow-up blows, though he could feel the heat even through the armor and see the embers and sparks following both the tails and Kaneki's footsteps.

" _ **Scale Lance."**_

Horus deflected the twined-together tails, then bulled forwards again, driving the ghoul back. One swing, two, and Kaneki had his back to a wall and nowhere to run, and the third swing hit four tails, and smashed the ghoul through that wall, into another room entirely. Horus pushed through, deflecting a dozen tail strikes in the span of a second, and was rewarded with the sight of Kaneki taking a very familiar stance, fist cocked back -

Horus had just enough time to plant his feet and swing the Blackstaff. " _Eridani Hammer!"_

" _ **Three Point Strike."**_

The world went white for a brief moment, and Horus blinked, pulling himself out of the pile of rubble he found himself in. It looked like they'd blown out every interior wall on this floor, and most of the ceiling to boot. On what looked to be the other end of the tower entirely, he could see Kaneki getting to his feet as well, arm writhing with new flesh.

Shit. The tower wouldn't take much more at this rate. He hoped the doctors had gotten out, they were supposed to evacuate in situations like this…

Huh. Wait…

"I thought you couldn't heal from Armament injuries," Horus pointed out. "Yet your fist seems to be fine."

" **I lied,"** Kaneki rumbled. Horus winced as a blast of heat rippled through the air, and hefted the Blackstaff once again. " **No more games,"** the ghoul growled. " **Let's finish this.** _ **Armor of the Dragon."**_

The heat from before seemed like the freezing temperatures outside, as Kaneki's body was rapidly covered in scales, limbs lengthening and wings sprouting from his back. The form he took was dark red, overlapping scales giving the draconic body a jagged appearance as it stood, the full height of a man. White fangs gleamed in the dim light that filtered from its mouth and throat, and four eyes shone red. The air around it _boiled_ , flickers of red mist massing around it.

Horus sighed. Well. Kaneki was going for his trump card. He needed to use his own.

He reached out, just like the doctor had instructed him, and touched his armor's presence. " _Megingjörð,"_ he whispered. " _Awaken."_

There was pain.

And then there was _power._

* * *

Vinci had to lean on his scythe. His legs wouldn't support him otherwise.

Three. Three more vaults they'd broken into, each more horrible than the last. Each containing the malformed abortions of some old experiment, locked away for good. Each with a history of fire and blood and death.

All too often, names attached to them; nine times out of ten, the family name was the same.

 _Grigori._

He'd known his family had been involved in black science, been working with the World Government for years...but this? This was something else. _Years_ implied a couple generations worth, forty or fifty at the very most.

Three times that, instead - for all that it had not been the most gruesome, the creation of ghouls seemed to have been the first of his family's...exploits.

Still…

Still...failure or not, the information whirling in his brain would be put to better use. He had _ideas_ , oh so many ideas, putting the pieces together of what had been locked away and forgotten to combine it with family lore and his own experiments…

But that was for later. _Later._

For now...he was going to at least make sure _someone_ knew what had been done here. They'd already found the records about Emory. They'd joined those of the ghouls, the history of the Libertas Incident, and the records of the Rampaging God and the Crowned Deceiver.

By the power of rationality, his family was made up of madmen...or idiots that ran into the same damn problem over and over because the records of the _last_ incident got sealed away and everyone forgot about them...urgh.

Vinci straightened as he heard cautious footsteps approach where he and the Companions stood. The stride did not match that of any of his crew. And that left only one real option, didn't it?

The Companions clustered around him as Vinci stared down the stacks, and saw the owner of those light, halting footsteps round the corner. He was...white. It was the only way to describe it. He was paler than even an albino, the blank white of processed paper, the waistcoat and slacks he wore the same shade as his skin. He was bald and hairless, his features pinched and thin, and he matched Franz Josef's description of the Custodian of the Archives perfectly. He looked up from the scrap of paper he was holding in one hand, and nodded. "Ah. So I suppose you're the pirates. You're intending to take some things out of the archives, aren't you? Right, so what was I supposed to do about that…?"

The man started patting his pockets, and Vinci sweatdropped. Was this guy for real? Franz Josef had talked him up as an obstacle, not someone who was basically senile…

This had to be an attempt to make him lower his guard.

"Ah, here it is! Drat, one moment, damn squiggly letters…" the pale man muttered, pulling another piece of paper from his pocket and then donning a pair of spectacles with lenses that looked to be about the size of Vinci's hand with fingers spread. "Ah, yes, yes…"

The Custodian dropped the paper, a thin smile appearing on his pale face. The bookcases rustled. "I'm supposed to kill you all."

The attack came from all directions, as white spears exploded from the records around them, lancing at Vinci with incredible speed.

None of them so much as touched him, as the Companions blocked or deflected every strike with halberd and shield, performing their job perfectly. Vinci grinned at the Custodian. "Paramecia?" he asked.

"Logia," the Custodian answered calmly.

"Ah, more's the pity. This will hurt, then." Vinci's eyes flickered, and his grin widened.

The man had lied already. He was clever.

"You know something?" he asked, as more paper spears appeared, held off by the Companions. "One of the simplest things about the King's Heart is that it's a vehicle for _will._ For my desire to be made real. It's hard to use, beyond changing myself...and trying to mess with the will of another, in their own body? That's beyond me. But, every once in a while, I find something that I hate. Something I can't let exist. And the best part? Sometimes, it's not even sentient, and it doesn't have will to oppose mine. And wouldn't you know it? We're surrounded by a history of every failure of ethics and basic decency the World Government has committed...and I want to see it all _**Burn.**_ "

The air trembled. And then the shelves of the archives around them, and the Custodian, did just that, as golden fire blazed. Vinci laughed, even as ichor traced burning trails down his face. He smiled at the Companions. "Spread out," he ordered. "That was only a shell. Find him and run him down."

"Aye, captain," the Companions chorused.


	89. Chapter 107

Gripper had taken point, after the last attack. They'd lost forty men to a hail of grenades and bullets before he could close and finish off the trio of Wolves who'd made the attack. Then even more as some sort of lava cannon had turned the better part of two platoons to burnt corpses, and though the clockwork abominations operating it had been killed an instant later, two ambushes was more than enough for Gripper to mandate his men stay back.

His Haki whispered a warning just as the snows around him began to shift. Fainaruburō shifted eagerly in its scabbard, the named blade eager to spill blood.

Gripper let out a breath, watching it steam in the afternoon air. There were storm clouds on the horizon, he noted.

One of the very rare things that happened in the Marines was the Admirals taking an interest in a junior officer's career. Oh, Akainu had his core of loyalists and Absolutists, but even the most... _devoted_...of the Admirals rarely took apprentices. There had been Vice Admiral Johnathan, Commodore Singh, and a half-dozen others, but that was all - and Akainu took the most of any of the Admirals.

And yet, another Admiral had taken an interest in Gripper, when he'd been a mere Captain: Kizaru. The enigmatic man had never explained his reasons, but he'd put Gripper through one of the most terrifying training regimens the Rear Admiral had ever encountered. The result?

He was not nearly as fast as the Admiral. Nothing was. But he was faster than anyone else he'd seen in combat. Fast enough that time seemed to move like honey on a cold morning.

At one tenth of a second, the snowbanks exploded, unleashing a half-dozen Wolves with swords and guns at hand, all of them going for Gripper where he stood separated from the rest of his command. The strike was perfectly timed, all of the blades aimed to land at once, giving no room to dodge, and with pistols to cover him if he somehow slipped free.

At two tenths of a second, Gripper reached to the bundles on his back, and undid the catches on the chains that held his many, many swords. Three tenths, and he lashed out, letting the chains guide the swords into a shotgun spray. Four tenths, and the swords connected, and their speed was enough to puncture bulletproof plate. Five tenths, and as six corpses hit the ground, Gripper cocked his head to the side as a bullet as long as a man's hand ripped through the air. Six tenths, and he'd moved to one of the Augment corpses, ripped a blade free, and sent it flying. Seven, and it pierced the scope and head of the distant sniper. Eight, and - _pain._

Gripper's muscles locked as he felt electricity rip through them, and he stumbled, Fainaruburō leaping into his hands practically by reflex to block the blow from behind that followed. The snow around him scattered from the force of the clash, and Gripper glared at his opponent through slitted eyes. Another Wolf, as heavily armored as his fellows, his sword a thick-bladed thing meant to chop opponents like meat. A circular shell, cracked down the middle, lay steaming on the ground at his feet.

This one? This one was faster than his fellows. Hm.

Gripper parried the next overhead slash, then the next, trading ground for time as the sheer power of the strikes forced him back. The man's swordsmanship was workable, nothing more. Considerable strength behind it, and even greater speed, but it lacked refining, too reliant on physical prowess. Gripper punished that mistake by moving forwards as the man moved to make another blow, letting Fainaruburō rip through the armor's gorget and take the Augment's head.

His men only started reacting as the Wolf's body hit the ground, and Gripper bit back the urge to sigh. Clearly, he needed to increase their training when this was over. They would need to be better, because the rest of the Wild Hunt was out in the world, and there were more Augments, who would undoubtedly change the face of war for the deadlier.

He picked up the chains where he'd dropped them, shook them out, and sent them swinging in a well-practiced motion, collecting the blades and relocking the clasps. Then, he paused. And moved, not drawing a blade but instead simply lunging to the side. A previously undisturbed piece of snowbank disintegrated as the figure under it tried to make a break for it, but Gripper snatched them by the throat and slammed them into the rock wall of the pass. He blinked, realizing his grip was around the throat of a teenager in red robes, one eye replaced by a construct of brass and lenses. The teenager clawed at the hand at his throat, and Gripper absent-mindedly reinforced the arm with Haki, just in case. A Cog. But...a new recruit. In fact, he thought he recognized the child...yes, one of Hans the clockmaker's sons.

 _Surrender_ , the teenager gasped, and Gripper let the kid drop. He signalled a pair of his men to detain the pirate.

His orders were to _arrest_ the Nightmares. Those who fought, lethal force could be deployed against. But slaughtering those who surrendered? No.

He'd learned from Kizaru long ago: orders, the chain of command, the laws and customs of war - those were what separated them from the enemy they fought. Only those at the very top of the world had the authority to bend those rules for the greater good, and neither Gripper, nor Kizaru himself, belonged in that category.

Gripper let his men detain the pirate, and continued onward. They were drawing close, now.

* * *

Six watched as the Oni turned a third battleship into a slaughterhouse, and hummed to himself. The situation was, in a word, concerning.

They had expected to deal with two battleships on patrol, and counted themselves lucky that the two were still in the harbor and thus easily handled as the _Ends Justified_ made to leave.

However, that appeared to have been a miscalculation. For the _Ends_ had found two _more_ battleships.

The Oni had set to it with a will, boarding the closer of the two and wreaking havoc on the decks - Six watched as a turret went flying into the mainmast of the warship, causing it to slowly tilt to the side - but the other was free to maneuver. And, shortly, would be within gunnery range of the _Ends_ , a duel the smaller vessel would not survive.

Six stood from his perch near the bow, watching the battleship. He sighed.

Kaneki had once told him a story, before he'd gone to Emory and everything had...happened. He'd explained the details of the Straw Hat crew, and their cook especially, once he'd seen Six's own interest. 'Black Leg' Sanji, exiled prince, cook, and absolute monster in combat, refusing to use his hands due to his devotion to cooking with them.

It was an intriguing tale, with the added benefit of truth, as Gin had added his own recollections of the Blackleg Cook. And...it gave Six something to use as a guideline.

He had something he _wanted_ , for the first time he could remember. And it was to stand alongside the Dragon as an equal. If a cook from the East Blue could reach the sort of prowess that made Kaneki speak of him with respect...who was to say another could not?

Six hummed another tune, and stood.

The facts were simple.

He was a Nightmare.

He was an _officer_ of the Nightmares, responsible for victuals, but in addition to that, responsible for maintaining the most vital traits of officers: _Strength._

He had not spent the past two weeks idle, pining over Kaneki's injuries. Not when there had been so much at stake.

Six nodded to himself, and walked back from the rail, finding a Wolf checking his armaments in anticipation of the coming battle. He reached up and tapped the heavily armored Augment on the shoulder. The Augment jumped, turning. "Yes?"

Six pointed at the battleship. "Throw me there."

"You want me to throw you, a relatively squishy normal human, at the massive, heavily armed, excessively armored Marine battleship, which is crewed by a thousand armed soldiers."

"Yes."

The Augment shrugged, and held out a hand. "Sure."

Six stepped onto the Augment's broad hand, and went flying. As the battleship drew closer, he turned in the air, putting his feet first and aiming himself as best he could. He knew he'd done it properly when his geta slammed into a Marine's face, knocking the soldier to the deck. " _Dynamic Entry: Success,"_ Six said approvingly, before leaping back to dodge the bullets that tried to perforate him. Hm.

" _Tempest Kick."_

The blade of air wasn't particularly sharp, but it did knock back the line of soldiers before they could shoot again. Six hopped back, landing on the forward rail of the battleship. The sea was below. He would have to be careful.

Still. He let out a breath, tracking the reactions of the Marines on board as several men ran to deal with him, blades in hand. They wouldn't be quick enough.

" _Trembling."_ His left leg began to blur. " _Frequency."_ A high-pitched note rang through the air, and Six raised the leg. " _Killahurtz Shieldbreaker."_

The hulls of Marine battleships were rather unique, as such things went. Steel-forged, cast in a single, massive piece by the massive government shipyards, only the Emperors had the resources to construct similar vessels - and in far lesser quality and quantity. Those steel hulls made them kings of the seas, able to pound equivalently sized ships to wooden scraps while taking little to no damage in return.

But the hulls were steel. And steel had a resonance frequency, and when exposed to it...

Six brought his leg down against the hull of the Marine ship, and the hull shook - and then began to crack, unable to handle the stress of conflicting vibrations. The deck tilted alarmingly, and Six cocked his head, watching as the Marines began to slide, unable to keep their footing.

"Damn you!"

Six jumped off of the tilted rail as a wind blade cut through it. A bit of Moon Walk moved him just enough so he could land on another section, and look down at the angry Marine captain who was pointing a sword at him, keeping his footing on one of the turrets of the sinking battleship.

" _Shave,"_ Six said, leaping off the rail and coming out of the move just behind the captain. " _Trembling. Frequency."_ His hand swept out, and tapped the back of the captain's head. " _Killahurtz Bonebreaker."_

The Marine captain flopped forwards, bleeding from ears, eyes, and nose, and Six sat on the turret's cold metal surface as his legs began to protest. He had a life belt, so if worst came to worst he could try to swim for it, but hopefully the ship would sink slowly enough to let him recover and use Moon Walk to get back to the _Ends._ Also, he was fairly certain his fingers and heel had sustained microfractures from delivering those blows. Medical treatment was advisable. Ice pack, possible medication to reduce swelling, possible splints to prevent further damage or use of other medication to repair it…

A thump of booted feet against steel plate. Six looked up, to see Tina grinning down at him. The axe-wielding Oni extended a hand. "Ready to go, sunshine?" she asked with a grin.

Six nodded, and took her hand. The displeasure of close contact was acceptable price for leaving in a hurry, and even burdened Tina was better at Moon Walk. It would be temporary. And she was...acceptable.

He was not certain why she muttered something about Kaneki as she stuck her axe in a holster on her back and picked him up to carry, but then again, she was a Nightmare, and all of them were unusual in mind and body. Including himself.

"Jeez, Six, that foot looks nasty. What made you think you had to take on a battleship by yourself?"

Six blinked. "We had no Basilisks. Otherwise I would have asked one to send an explosive bullet down the turret. It would have set off the magazine and destroyed the ship. Since we did not, I was the only one with the capacity to do so."

"You coulda asked the Wraiths to do something, you know. There are easier ways to impress people than killing battleships, cook."

"Why would I try to impress people?"

Tina laughed. "You've got a good poker face, I'll give you that much."

Six nodded. It was true. He even managed to win against Eka, most of the time.

* * *

The Custodian lived in paper. He had always done so, ever since he'd become The Custodian, discarding whatever he'd been before in the trials of enlightenment. He was well aware that he was considered a failure. The records indicating those opinions were present in the archives, after all. He knew them intimately.

It did not matter, though. Paper was his domain, and in the Archives, his awareness extended far. Mere humans and their opinions did not matter in comparison.

One particular insect, though, was proving rather troublesome. The Custodian was uncertain as to the source of its abilities - monologuing was tiresome and grandiose and rarely revealed much of substance - but the fact remained that the flames it had created were of the sort that only ceased burning when what they'd been set on was nought but ash. Several aisles of the archives had already been lost. Unacceptable.

Paper false-bodies folded themselves out of neighboring aisles, swords of thousand-folded sheets in hand, and engaged the firebrand.

Now. The firebrand's allies had split up...ten of them. The Custodian laid tricks and traps, false-bodies and attacking spears lancing out from the stacks around them, but they did not falter, and did not fall. They were as disgustingly resilient as the firebrand himself, apparently. And one was drawing far too close to the Custodian's true body for comfort.

Hm. This was to be expected. The Custodian had had to extend lines of paper out from where his true body lay in order to extend his awareness through the stacks. While those lines were largely buried, the ones nearest his true body were not, largely by necessity.

The Custodian left containing the firebrand to the false-bodies, knowing that even though they were being destroyed they would still last long enough to delay the firebrand, and focused his attention on the lone armored warrior, who was standing in front of the blast door that protected where the Custodian's true body lay. A half-dozen paper spears were torn apart in an instant as the warrior reacted impossibly fast, but dozens more followed, splitting and shifting to restrain the fighter rather than going for the killing blow.

He checked Grigori's position, letting the false-bodies draw him out. Nearly three hundred meters. Good. He would not be able to intervene quickly.

The warrior struggled against the Custodian's bindings, and the Custodian considered what to do with his prey. He was strong, after all, stalwart and powerful as insects rarely were. And the Custodian...the Custodian had quite a few thoughts about what that strength could accomplish.

The Custodian lived in paper, and knew everything recorded upon it by heart, having skimmed its awareness through the countless records in the archives. And, quite frankly, he was still a curious fellow at heart. He wanted to see what made this fellow so resilient.

The Custodian checked the positions of his other enemies, continuing to draw them away as he felt something like hunger burn in his aged heart. Yes. _Yes._ None would interrupt him.

The blast door ground open, and the tendrils of wound paper pulled the warrior in with him. The steel edifice slammed shut, leaving the Custodian alone with his prize. Paper hands began to peel away the armor, while another set moved the Custodian's true body upright for the first time in an age, so he could get a good look at his prize with his own eyes. The insect struggled and spat insults and curses, which was obvious, but under the armor was musculature that did not properly match that of a human. Now, to vivisect him properly, and see what-

The Custodian blinked, and looked down at the scythe blade protruding from his chest. But...how…

He sank to the floor, paper losing its strength without his powers to sustain it, and looked up at the smiling face of the firebrand. He tried to speak, to question, but nothing came up but blood and spittle. And yet, the firebrand's smile widened.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," it whispered. "You might've lied about being a Logia...but I lied about how my teleportation was limited. Valdor, you okay?"

"Fine," the warrior grumbled, from outside the Custodian's fading field of vision. "Give me a bit to get my armor back on."

"Eh, sure." The firebrand's gaze locked on that of the Custodian. "Range limit? Pfah. As if utilizing adjunct dimensions for transit would conform to standardized spatial measuring. Since you're dying, I'll be honest. It's linked to my esoteric senses. I set a destination based on people and my own home, not distance."

"Is babbling to a dying man really the best idea, Captain?" the warrior asked.

"I'm a pirate, I do what I want."

The Custodian tried to laugh, but all that happened was him coughing, and then a slowly growing cold…

* * *

Simo tried to move, but his body wouldn't listen. Everything hurt. Even _breathing_ hurt. But he needed to get up. He needed to stop her. Damn it…

He managed to turn his head, muscle and bone protesting all the while. Lauren was somehow up and moving, the sound of gunshots like distant thunderclaps. He saw an officer with a bowl cut do _something_ with his hands, pulling one of her shells off-course, only to have it explode next to him. Two more bullets ripped him apart, and Lauren kept killing, the damn Ghosts joining her in butchery.

He needed to stop her. He was the only one who could even come close…

Slowly, achingly, he managed to move his arms, fresh pain stabbing at him every step of the way, and then his legs. He rolled over, got his feet under him, and slowly stood, drawing his sidearm. The flintlock pistol trembled in his hand. No. None of that.

He breathed. In. Out.

His hand steadied, and Simo raised it, lining up the sights. Lauren half-turned, somehow _knowing_ , and Simo didn't waste time deliberating. He pulled the trigger.

The pistol kicked, and Lauren vanished. Simo fell to the side, half on instinct, half because his leg had suddenly cramped, and felt sharp metal tear through his cheek. She'd teleported, damn it -

 _Pain._

Simo's muscles locked as agony ripped through every cell of his body at once, making the previous injuries seem like nothing. He tried to scream, but nothing came out but a choked whimper.

The last thing he saw before his brain shut down was the barrel of Lauren's gun.

* * *

Lauren stared at the twitching, pain-racked body of someone she'd once called a friend. Casull seemed to weigh a thousand times what it normally did.

It'd be simple. A twitch of the finger, and he'd be dead. The toxins she'd covered her knife with wouldn't keep him down for good, not someone as stubborn as him. If she didn't finish him off, he could end up killing others on the crew. If the Ghosts weren't what they were, they'd have been killed already, and he'd been aiming to kill her as well.

It'd be so easy, and there were so many good reasons to do it...and yet she couldn't. She _wouldn't._ Not like this. She'd crossed enough lines already, killed enough people already, and she was tired of it.

She lowered the gun, and picked the brat up. Her legs ached from the abuse her whole body had been put through, but she was a hell of a lot tougher than the girl from Crucix had been, these days, and she managed to clear the gap between the floating elevator platform and the actual landing with ease. She set the unconscious man down near the center, away from the corpses of Marines and security personnel that ringed the landing, and went through one of her hip bags, fingers running over knotted loops until she found the right one. The syringe of antidote went into the vein at the crook of the elbow, and Simo stopped twitching, his expression easing.

Lauren rose from her crouch, and nodded to her Ghosts. "We're falling back to the archives," she said shortly. As one, they nodded, and were gone. She let out a breath, and checked her ammo reserves, wincing as it became clear just how low on pistol shells she was. She still had plenty of shells for Longinus, at least. Whatever came her way, she'd be able to handle.

She paused as she heard something shift in the elevator shaft, then relaxed as an arm clad in the rags of a suit appeared at the edge, followed shortly by the rest of a very grumpy-looking C. The ghoul's clothes were in tatters, per usual, and she had a feeling he was pouting under that mask of his. "You finished without me?" C asked.

"Jealous?"

"I was falling for way too long. And then I had to climb up. It took _forever._ And you killed them all. So yes."

"Tch. Get over it, ginger. Least you have something to eat."

C cocked his head. "Eh. They're humans. They don't taste that great anymore. I've got Sea Kings and chocolate now."

Despite herself, and despite her surroundings, she chuckled. "And yet I bet you're still being a sadistic little shit to them."

"Well, I'm supposed to be really scary...and they're enemies, right? I don't need to be nice."

Lauren felt even more tired, all of a sudden. "Just because you're fighting them doesn't mean you need to be evil to them, C. Try to be like your brother."

"Too angry to die?"

"No, only being evil to the really evil fuckers."

"Oh. Wait, what makes evil?"

"We can have philosophy discussions later. Let's go."

"Okay, okay." The ghoul hugged her around the waist, hoisting her into the air.

"Oi!"

"Your nose is bleeding, I can smell it through your mask. Bet you can't teleport anymore. So I'm gonna carry you down," C said, in a voice of utmost seriousness.

Lauren grimaced as her headache decided to register another complaint, and decided she wouldn't shoot the idiot. This time.

* * *

The Cog who had once been Archimedes Newsam considered their opponent, and felt something they hadn't believed themselves capable of feeling with regards to the Maker's cousin: genuine respect. Despite utilizing an entirely biological system and being obviously untrained in combat, the cousin had managed to incapacitate three of the Huscarls and two of the Cog's own Immortals in the space of less than a second. The cousin looked at Newsam, and snarled, veins standing out on his face, before suddenly vanishing in a motion oddly similar to a Shave.

Newsam calculated the rapidly moving man's vector, took a stance, and punched seemingly at random. There was a very loud clang as bronze collided with hardened flesh, and the cousin came out of his Shave-like motion, reeling back with a hand to his throat.

Newsam considered this, and thought it good. There had been minor damage to three of the mechanisms in their arm, but otherwise nothing of note. Already their self-repair mechanisms were working to correct the minor faults.

"HO THERE!" they shouted, speakers transmitting at maximum volume.

"What," the cousin coughed, twitching violently as they steadied their footing.

In answer, Newsam shrugged off their robe, revealing the edifice of steel and brass that was their body. It had been built with the same exacting precision all the Immortals had made their bodies with, a perfected thing that imitated the shape of a body of flesh with commendable precision, all while being far, far deadlier.

"What the fuck," the cousin managed to utter, before Newsam engaged their leg pistons, leapt across the room, and punched him in the throat again. The cousin staggered, and Newsam swept his legs out from under him, slamming him into the floor. They placed their right fist against the man's neck. An extremely long piston deployed out of the back of their elbow, and several dozen micromotors rearranged themselves. Maximum throat-punching mode engaged, Newsam set about the task of formulating their thesis on how many blows it would take to bury a man's head in a concrete floor.

 _Thud thud thud..._

As the cousin tried and failed to recover, Newsam checked the positions of the others. The Huscarls and Immortals were holding back from the brawl that had developed between the organic designated Grundy Elisha and the two officers present. Adequate. The Immortals followed Newsam's orders, of course, following the commands transmitted in the inaudible Song of the Machine. It did not grant the subconscious and instinctive teamwork that the Oni seemed to possess, but it was far more effective than the loud shouting the leader of the Huscarls, Bjorn, was using.

 _Thud thud thud..._

Hm. It was intriguing. The most effective members of each type of Augment were those drawn from previously destroyed pirate crews, retaining some measure of uniqueness. The Immortals were almost all former Gear Pirates, the Huscarls Steel Shields...the gunner's Ghosts had been Rangers, too. Only the Fae and the Basilisks lacked some form of elite unit...but was that because of their nature, or a lack of an officer to rally around?

 _Thud thud th-_

"ENOUGH!"

Newsam disengaged throat-punching mode and leapt back from the sloppy haymaker, somewhat impressed that the cousin was still cognizant. The cousin was on his feet in an instant. "You think you can stop me?!" he shouted. "My work is greater than yours, you half-breed scrapheap!"

"Incorrect," Newsam said. Lesser Cogs only spoke in code, always reliant on it to make themselves heard. The Immortals were greater than that. "You are a thing of fragile flesh, dependent on the work to fight. By contrast, I am immortal, and far greater than my creation."

It was true. As with all Immortals, there was no flesh in Newsam's body, save his brain and life-support systems. His body was steel and brass and wiring, unaging and perfected, and his consciousness a thing of the Song itself, able to inhabit another shell if provided another grown brain. Such were the benefits of a month's tireless work for the Cogs, and the power of discovery and experimentation.

The cousin smiled viciously. "Immortal, huh? Let's test that."

There was no further need for conversation after that.

* * *

Herman glared at his opponent, then considered the mass of horrific agony that was his left arm. He was fairly certain it was broken, and it'd definitely been dislocated by the last hammer blow. Grundy made no move to attack again, but Herman wasn't fooled. The bastard was _fast_ , and practically toying with him now.

"Got a plan?" he grunted to Gin, who was getting to his feet. Considering Grundy had thrown Herman at Gin, Herman didn't begrudge him feeling a bit roughed up. The cadaverous bastard cracked his neck, keeping an eye on Grundy. "Maybe," the man conceded. "Need a distraction."

Herman smiled grimly, and swung his left arm down harshly, pulling with all the fine muscle control he'd learned to be able to move with Forged Body. His shoulder popped back into its socket with a sickening crack and a flash of pain that made stars appear in his vision, but he ignored it in favor of raising Amakatta in a two-handed grip. "Go."

He lunged forwards, meeting Grundy halfway as the red-armored bastard moved with impossible speed. He was pushed backwards almost instantly, but Herman's clawed feet dug into the concrete, stopping his momentum.

If Grundy's hammer had been made of steel, this wouldn't have been a contest, just a cut and then a sudden loss of the man's head. But no, Grundy had to have a weapon made of the same red-black stuff as his suit, and unlike the suit the weapon was too damn tough to be cut - probably because it didn't need to move with its wearer like the suit did. So hammer and blade remained locked together, neither of them wanting to budge an inch.

Herman's eye of supernatural bullshit saw Gin Shave towards Grundy, tonfas glowing with Devil Fruit powers.

In an eyeblink, Grundy disengaged, and the sudden vanishing of force made Herman stumble, which was all the bastard needed to twirl on one foot. His hammer slammed into Gin, shattering both tonfas and sending the man flying onto the elevator platform, where he hit the lifting machinery like a meteor. In the same motion, he kicked Herman in the chest with incredible force, and Herman nearly choked as he felt ribs crack under his plate. He fell to one knee, holding his chest with one hand and shifting back to human form, and barely got Amakatta up to block a blow that would have turned his head into red mist. "Oh, fuck you," he gritted out, as Grundy lifted the hammer to try again - and then stopped dead, a chain wrapping itself around the haft of the weapon. Herman's eye saw Gin, barely holding Grundy back for the span of a second with the weighted chain that he'd thrown, and saw his chance in the barest moment of unsteadiness in Grundy's stance.

He was on his feet in seconds, mantra running through his mind.

 _The edge of a blade is infinite_

 _And to shift the world_

 _One only needs a long enough lever._

" _SHEAR!"_ he roared, bringing Amakatta down with all the power he could muster on Grundy's right shoulder. The blade seemed to howl as it cut right through the red-black armor, embedding itself in the floor. Grundy took it in stride, and Herman saw oncoming death in the form of the man's left fist, inescapable and absolute -

Until the weight on the other end of Gin's chain, still moving and glowing with the power of his Devil Fruit, smashed Grundy in the chest, and the man disappeared with a sound like a struck gong. Herman grinned at the sound of the man smashing through several walls, and wrenched Amakatta free of the ground as Gin walked over, looping the chain back up.

"Where'd you get a meteor hammer?" Herman asked, nodding at the weight, which was identical to those on Gin's tonfas.

"Didn't," Gin grunted. "Chain's from that idiot from earlier."

"Then how'd you get the weight on?"

Gin held up his left hand in answer, and Herman winced as he saw the blisters and oozing burns that covered it. "Devil Fruit lets me heat things up, done right," Gin said tonelessly. "Doesn't protect me from it, though."

"...thanks for the save," Herman finally said, holding his aching ribs.

"Don't mention it. Where's Viktor?"

"The cousin was smashed by the flying body of his bodyguard, and presumably landed where the bodyguard landed," a mechanical voice said, and Herman's eye fell on what looked like a naked bronze statue. He considered questioning it, but decided against it.

"Well that's a stroke of luck," Gin muttered. "Let's get the hell out of here before they dig themselves out of whatever crater I smacked them into."

Herman nodded. "Elevator machinery's busted. We'll have to take Jack's."

"Then let's get moving."


	90. Chapter 108

Jonah Zechariah had been with the Nightmares since the beginning. He had been one of the Eyetooth Pirates, captured and locked in a cell as their captain hanged for his 'crimes'...and then, salvation had come in the form of a new captain, and the Shadowbound that walked with him. Zechariah was not one to question a sign when he saw it.

He'd joined them. He'd fought at the side of new companions, growing stronger under the Shadowbound's teachings and the Captain's creations. He'd Ascended, becoming more than mortal like the rest of his brethren.

And he had learned what the Captain truly was.

Zechariah's home of New Londinium was a cold place, near the southern poles, and his people had long since learned to listen to the spirits of the world to survive and thrive. Some had taken ill spirits into themselves, binding them to their flesh with brand and tattoo to use their power, as Kaneki undoubtedly had. Others...others had been more gifted than that. They had been Truthspeakers, those who channeled the will of the world through ritual and invocation.

And the Captain...the Captain was _the_ Truthspeaker. Zechariah had heard his Word, on the Spice Archipelago and amidst the chaos of battle. Grigori Vinci needed no ritual or preparation - he simply _was,_ a conduit for change and power made manifest. Even Kaneki, the Shadowbound that walked in his footsteps, paled in comparison to those moments of power.

Zechariah and those who had listened to his message knew what the Captain, the _Truthmaker_ , was, and worshipped him as such.

It was no great thing, to die for such a leader.

It was a good place the thirty-nine of them had chosen to make their last stand. All other corridors had been blocked off and collapsed, leaving only the killing ground of this intersection. They had heavy weapons manned by two Cogs, a Basilisk to provide precision fire, and Wolves behind barricades. The steel plate used to block the one entrance would give them warning to fire as the Rear Admiral cut through it.

All of them had volunteered for this, knowing they would go to their deaths. They could not do more than delay or mildly injure the enemy, could not do more than buy time. But time was what they needed, to evacuate more crew below with the sole functioning elevator. And so Zechariah and his brethren would give them that time.

Incongruously, Zechariah found his mind fixated on a verse, one he'd been taught long ago, when he'd been little more than a child. Before he knew it, he found himself singing it, softly at first, then louder still as others picked up the tune.

" _Gather brothers, gather sisters, soothe your blisters by the fire_

 _Though our bones may ache and groan, we know our spirits never tire_

 _The temperature's low, but our purpose is much higher_

 _What's behind us mustn't blind us, to divineness that transpires_

 _Now her spires have expired, well she rests in each of you_

 _Londinium's no place - it wasn't left beneath our boots_

 _And by grace we have been blessed, with that most elegant of truth_

 _We stand here not abandoned, but as testament and proof_

 _For a city is its people, and it's people are it's heart_

 _Stood together 'gainst the weather, 'gainst the coming of the dark_

 _Ne'er a lantern has been lit, with oh so righteous a spark_

 _When providence claimed continents, but provided us an ark..."_

The steel plate shook under a blow, and still the Nightmares sang.

" _Morning gathering or evening prayer,_

 _We still battle for a season fair,_

 _We still huddle in the freezing air,_

 _For a summer that's not even there..._

 _If the sun won't rise on our horizon,_

 _We'll march on to spite the skies,_

 _And find that wheel of progress, so well worn,_

 _Brought us our shelter from the storm..."_

Another blow, and the steel dented inwards. Zechariah laughed.

His brethren would not be broken by this fight. One remained. Ralgor Numa, youngest and brightest of them all, had been given Zechariah's mace and told to keep the faith alive, to remain while the rest went to die.

And so he still sang.

" _I have heard there are those who would defy us,_

 _Who'd choose oppression o'er ascension for the pious..._

 _Dissidents without repent are bent on questioning the dias,_

 _Twisted iron fist pariahs and their heretic messiahs_

 _Winter blizzards to infinity so sing the hymns and litanies_

 _Hand in and skin the sinners if you wish to skim divinity_

 _Each shiver will deliver us deliverance in time_

 _They'll burn innocents for penitence, but we preempt their crime_

 _We're protectors of the truth - great erectors of the new faith_

 _Defectors and objectors can expect a second doomsday_

 _Unquestioning our destiny, relentless we pursue fate_

 _Alone we have been chosen to be spoken through by true grace..._

 _ **Frozen omens say we should invoke another crusade."**_

The Truth and the Word were his life. And they would survive beyond his death. And so, even as the steel cracked down the middle, Zechariah and his brethren still sang.

" _Morning gathering or evening prayer,_

 _We still battle for a season fair,_

 _We still huddle in the freezing air,_

 _For a summer that's not even there..._

 _If the sun won't rise on our horizon,_

 _We'll march on to spite the skies,_

 _And find that wheel of progress, so well worn,_

 _Brought us our shelter from the storm..."_

The steel shattered. Zechariah and his brethren fought.

It took fifteen minutes for the last of them to die.

* * *

I am surrounded by flames and falling pieces of building, but I do not care. What hits me fails to penetrate my scales, and the flames have never been anything more than my nature.

 _KILL HIM_

 _TRAITOR_

 _MURDERER_

We clash again and again, red against red, armor and Haki against _**claws and hate**_ , and the nineteen voices scream and babble. Little more than fragments of thought and memory, little more than their names left, they cry out.

 _Mommy! Help me!_

 _Please, we haven't hurt anyone, why are you_ doing _this-_

 _Damn you all, damn you-_

 _Take me if you can, you ugly bastards, you won't get past-_

 _BURN! BURN THEM ALL!_

The dragon is silent, a part of me for the moment, and the voices have taken his place. If there is guidance, it's only this: _**STRIKE HIM DOWN.**_

And I want to. It isn't something the dragon is pushing me to do. It's something that needs to be done. Horus needs to be taken out of the fight, and if I have to hurt him to do it...I told him what they'd done. I won't kill him, but I'll do whatever it takes to keep him away from _**my crew.**_

 _"Ursa Crash!"_

 _ **"MIZUICHI!"**_ I roar, thickening the corrosive mist I control and sending it roaring to counter his assault in an avalanche of spectral jaws and teeth. He bursts through it, armor steaming as the C-cell mist tries and fails to break it down (and I know why, I know what Viktor did with what he _**stole**_ from me). My clawed forelimb meets his staff, and the shockwaves demolish the floor beneath us, forcing us to leap apart.

My wings fire a barrage of shards to keep him off-balance, but their explosions fail to do much more than that. The armor's as tough as my own scales, and unless I hit him directly, they won't do much more than rattle. And if I hit him and the scale penetrates, he's going to die. I won't do that, he is _**my**_ friend, despite all this. He doesn't know everything, doesn't know the rot at the heart of the world, and...I cannot blame him for standing against me.

I need to rein C in, after this. If there is an after.

But for now... _ **why won't he just go down?**_

" _ **FALL, DAMN YOU!"**_ I shout, as staff and claw clash again in a staccato of blows. Horus goes to one knee, eyes blazing behind the skull-like helm of his armor, but he deflects my claws and is back on his feet in an instant. He moves like lightning, and my head snaps back under the force of his blow as stars scatter across my vision. He gets another few blows in, sending my head swaying on its long neck, before my wings pull me up into the air and buy me a bit of breathing room. I snarl in frustration as he takes the time to go to ground, jumping into the hole in the floor and vanishing into the warren of probably-not-on-fire-yet hallways below. I follow him down, folding my wings to fit into the relatively cramped spaces.

" _ **Come out, come out, wherever you are…"**_ I rumble, tail lashing in frustration as I stalk through the halls, following traces of noise and scent and body heat. Dust trickles from the ceiling as parts of the tower continue to collapse. This structure won't last long. Half the hallways are collapsed already. I move past one, take note of the body caught in the rubble, and lash out with mist, rending it down to the bones. I feel a little bit of strength return, the growing, gnawing hunger receding slightly. Hm.

 _ **I am very hungry indeed,**_ and this may help.

What is Horus's game? He can't keep going forever…even with the smoke blocking most scent I can smell the spilled blood his armor is feeding off of, and even Horus's immense vitality has its limits. Is he attempting to ambush me, or is he just running? Neither seem his style…

I hear the crack of a shattered support beam an instant too late, and look up as the ceiling above me cracks and caves in.

" _ **Oh, you clever bast-"**_

With the supports gone, the weight of the surviving sections of tower does the rest, and multiple tons of burning debris fall onto me. I feel the floor give way under me as it fails to hold the weight, and for long moments all I see and hear is debris and rubble and the roar of collapse.

When it stops and I can hear myself think, I'm well and truly stuck, pinned beneath the sheer _weight_ of the rubble. Can't see a damn thing, either. Well, great. _**Is it too much to hope for that he got stuck too?**_ I hear rubble shift and light begins to break through the area near my head. No, of _course_ he's fine. A particularly large chunk of ex-building near my left set of eyes is pulled aside, and I can finally see Horus. His armor has gone pure black, and blood's dripping from where his helm joins with the rest of the armor, but he seems largely fine. He heaves a sigh. "Right. You stay here, okay? I'm not gonna kill you, but I need to stop the rest of your crew before they kill even more people. After that, we can deal with whatever shit you found down there. If someone decided to kill all the people like you, they're going to face justice like everyone else."

I can't help it. I laugh, the sound starting harsh and made even harsher by my current form. " _ **Kyakakakakakakaha….You truly believe that? You believe that courts and judges will be the end of it? It will be buried again."**_

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

The sheer _**arrogance**_ in that statement makes my blood boil, just a little. I reach out to the mist that still suffuses the rubble, send it winding through cracks and minute openings to reach the bodies caught within, pulling the strength in the bodies of the dead back to me piece by piece. More rushes out from my body, eating away at the rubble under my limbs. " _ **You are unbearably naive at times, you know that?"**_

"Yeah, yeah, and you're a drama queen who's too cynical for his own good. You going to cooperate, or am I going to have to knock you out?"

The two eyes on my left side narrow at Horus, and my muzzle bares a mouthful of fangs as I feel the rubble under my limbs start to crack and crumble, giving me the barest bit of leverage I need. " _ **Neither."**_

I push as hard as I can, spending all that carefully-earned strength in an instant, and rocket out of the rubble at blinding speed, lashing out with a claw as I do so. Horus goes flying, and hits the snowy ground hard as I land on my own four feet.

He doesn't get up. Shit. Shitshitshit. I pad over, drawing corrosive mist back into me and as far away from him as possible. He's still breathing, helm gone and a trio of nasty-looking clawmarks marring the left side of his skull, but still alive.

 _KILL HIM_

 _EAT HIM_

 _VENGEANCE_

 _DANGER_

No.

 _CRACK HIS BONES_

 _DRINK HIS BLOOD_

 _LEAVE NOTHING_

No, I won't.

 _A THREAT_

 _A MENACE_

 _HE WILL HUNT US_

 _KILL HIM NOW_

 _ **I refuse.**_ _ **Be**_ _**silent**_ _ **.**_

 _..._

Alright. Long as we know where we stand.

I pick him up as gingerly as I can with one clawed hand, and prop him up against a tree that's a bit away from the still-burning collapsed remnants of the tower.

Then I turn to the central spire, and see where the door of the main entrance has been broken down, the massive gate of iron and wood ripped apart. I hear, faintly, the sounds of battle, and begin to run, covering ground at a lope.

Back to work.

* * *

Gripper considered the bigger picture as the sole remaining cargo elevator began its slow descent.

His men had secured the two of the outer towers that were still standing with relative ease. 'Relative' meaning that they had only had to contend with hastily-laid booby traps and the occasional lethal leak from some of the chemical labs, rather than having to fight the Nightmares themselves. A third tower was rubble, and the fourth...what was going on in the fourth, nobody wanted to handle, especially as that tower was currently on fire.

The Nightmares had put more than enough men in Gripper's path to pose a problem and to delay him. He could feel the beginning of a massive bruise across his right ribs thanks to the fanatic who had tried to hold him off, and the various scratches and other minor injuries from that fanatic's companions were an irritant.

They'd sacrificed themselves happily, going to their deaths...it did not make sense. What had turned the scum of the sea into such selfless warriors? What drove them to continue fighting like this?

No matter. If they refused to surrender, Gripper's orders remained clear.

They were attempting to flee through the Archives. Either they had prepared some method of escape, or they had uncovered some secret route to the same ends. Either way, Gripper's task, and that of his men, was the same. He'd dispatched Smoker and his troops to move towards where the Nightmare vessel had last been reported heading, and perhaps they would even make it in time to intercept the ship…and Smoker himself would at least survive the experience, which was more than could be said for any of the remaining officers under Gripper's command. Grigori Viktor and his bodyguard had been pried out of one of the towers, and were in no condition to fight - Gripper had set them both to seeing to the numerous wounded. Akira Horus, judging from reports, was brawling in the fourth tower against some sort of monster. T-Bone had been incapacitated and was still unconscious, and of his subordinates, one had also been found unconscious and the other had had his head blown open. The butcher's bill of dead among the rank and file was even greater. Over a dozen battleships put out of commission with destroyed keels, and four more lost with most of their crews at the hands of the _Ends_ and its pack of monstrosities tallied most of the Marine's losses, with almost four thousand dead, but between the bloody fighting the security personnel and Marines had been dragged into and the absolute disaster that was Emory, the death toll was somewhere near fifteen thousand, both Marine and civilian.

It was why Gripper was going alone. He refused to lose more men. The Nightmare rank and file were bad enough, and while the officers might be exhausted or wounded from their running battles...a cornered rat was the most vicious of its kind. Gripper's men would be slaughtered dealing with such a force.

The elevator continued to grind downwards, and Gripper ran through what he knew of his enemies.

Bosque Herman. A monster with the sword, heavily armored and more than willing to fight viciously. Still, his direct approach could be circumvented.

Gin. An East Blue hotshot with a tremendous body count, his skill with his weapons augmented by a particularly troublesome Devil Fruit, but reliant on those weapons.

Subject C. Magnetic manipulation coupled with regeneration and iron-hard skin. Troublesome, but Haki could nullify all three to varying degrees.

Bertram Lauren. Considerable skill with firearms, Augment of an unknown type but likely the one that granted teleportation (and how Grigori Vinci had managed to create something that by all rights qualified as a Devil Fruit ability Gripper had not the slightest idea). While her arsenal would prove annoying, she was not a close-quarters combatant. If he could close with her before she could react, things would end swiftly.

Rubeus Jack, Six, and Yoshimura Kaneki could be disregarded. The first two did not have any particularly outstanding combat ability - Rubeus was more of an administrator than a fighter, and Six was little more than a cook - and as for Yoshimura...the fragmentary reports had placed the Oni on those battleships that had become dens of slaughter, and Kaneki was not the sort of creature to be very far from his pack. He would not be in any position to intervene.

That left Vinci. All of the abilities of his Augments, combined and magnified, and others still to boot. Vinci was the true danger, and it was nearly a guarantee that he would have some sort of counter prepared for Gripper.

He would have to cut Vinci down first.

Gripper frowned as the elevator cleared the shaft, still descending to the floor below. He frowned because he could see, at the far end of the archives, the unmistakable shape of a tunnel's opening, and Nightmares fleeing into it. He frowned because, at the base of the elevator, the seemingly endless rows of bookcases and shelves had been shoved aside, leaving a clear space for a makeshift arena. He frowned because standing there, barring the path for him to take out the retreating crew, were six individuals. All of the Nightmare officers, save Yoshimura and Six, had arrayed themselves against him.

Hmph.

Gripper considered leaping over their heads and simply avoiding the fight, but discarded the thought. There were too many possible counters that he'd be vulnerable to in the air. So he waited until the elevator came to a halt, watching as the Nightmares reacted in all their various ways. Weapons were readied, knuckles were cracked, and smiles became distinctly unnerving.

Gripper sighed internally. Of course. "I don't suppose any of you would like to surrender?" he asked.

"Nope," Grigori said crisply, an aura of electricity beginning to build around him.

"Not a chance," Bertram added as she loaded a comically large rifle.

"A pity. In that case-"

"Bored now," C announced. "Yeet."

Gripper blinked. What on earth did that mea-

The bundles of swords on his back suddenly rocketed upwards, pulling Gripper with them, and he bit back a curse as the chains bit into his ribs with bruising force. A pulse of will shattered the magnetic hold, and Gripper kicked off the air, tossing himself sideways and digging his feet into the side of the elevator shaft. Hmph. At least Haki disrupted this ability. Gripper paused, considering his options, then nodded. Repairs to the other elevator were ongoing. Nobody would particularly miss this one.

He drew a single blade from one of his bundles, planted his feet, and swung. " _Linear."_ Concrete shrieked as the wind blade tore through it, cutting through the shaft entirely, and Gripper kicked off as the massive piece of concrete began to fall, pushing it towards the assembled Nightmare officers as he slipped free. An instant passed, then two, then three, seconds like syrup as he loosened the chains on his blades. In those few instants -

" _SHEAR!"_

" _NIGHT'S CALL!"_

A wind blade of surpassing density cut the falling shaft in half, and a meteor hammer shining with power turned the half that was directly above the Nightmare officers to rubble.

In the fourth instant-

" _Gunnery Special: Explosive Multishot."_

\- a series of explosions turned that rubble to _dust_ , but Gripper already had hands on his chains.

" _Black Sowing,"_ he proclaimed, and with a pulse of his Haki he sent his blades flying down, trusting the dust to conceal them for just long enough.

The blades ripped into the concrete flooring, and Gripper fell into the billowing cloud of dust, trusting to his instincts and his Observation to warn him when his eyes proved useless.

The first attack came before his feet touched the ground - a wall of green flame. Gripper drew Fainaruburō and cut in one smooth motion, parting the fire around him harmlessly as he landed. The scorching flames turned the blades it washed over into slag, but that was a minor loss at most.

Prickles of intuition warned him of an attack from behind, and Gripper turned as Bosque Herman burst through the haze, sword swinging in a downward blow that had enough force behind it to be unstoppable.

So Gripper didn't. He simply stepped to the side, dodging the blow by centimeters, and smiled slightly. "Your guard is down," he said simply, and struck. His blade cut between a gap in the plates covering Bosque's abdomen, and blood splattered the ground. Bosque went to his knees, and Gripper prepared to end it, but disengaged as a flying scalpel nearly clipped his throat.

"I don't recall giving you permission to touch my crew, Marine," Grigori Vinci said flatly, levelling his scythe as the haze parted around him.

Gripper didn't bother responding. Instead he rushed forwards, plucking a pair of undamaged swords from the earth. One went flying at Grigori, who dodged with surprising speed, and the other joined Fainaruburō in the offensive as Gripper hammered the traitor Warlord with a relentless series of slashes.

Grigori was faster than he'd expected, lightning streaming along his limbs as he blocked Gripper's strikes with strength born of desperation, but he still was not as fast as Gripper. A few moments more, and-

 _"Hour's Call!"_

Gripper leapt back as Gin's meteor hammer nearly smashed him into the dirt, and bit back a snarl as Grigori used the reprieve to vanish back into the dust.

If they insisted on using it for cover...Gripper grit his teeth, and sank his spare blade back into the earth, taking Fainaruburō in both hands. _"Divisor,"_ he said flatly, and swung. The haze was blasted away by the sudden gust of wind, and Gripper smiled viciously as he caught proper sight of the Nightmare officers. Bosque Herman was falling back, hand to his wounded side, which left five. Enough to-

Gripper dodged an absurdly large rifle bullet, grimaced, and charged Bertram as she worked the action on her oversized rifle. He plucked another blade from the earth as he ran, and though she was fast enough to see him coming and put the rifle between her and the blade, she wasn't fast enough to dodge.

The katana ripped through flesh and bone, and Bertram Lauren snarled in agony as she lost her right arm. Gripper followed up with a kick to the jaw, sending her flying. Four.

Fainaruburō went back to its sheath, and Gripper retrieved another blade in its place, sidestepping a hammer blow from Rubeus Jack and kicking the man into the archive shelving, collapsing a bookcase the size of a small building onto the bosun. Three. He leapt forwards, and met Grigori swords to scythe once more as the captain snarled in rage. Gripper slipped under a sloppy haymaker, and rammed one of his swords to the hilt through Grigori's gut. As the traitor gasped in pain, the blade's fellow pierced his heart, and Gripper tossed the man aside. Two.

"Go aw-" C began, but Gripper did not allow the creature to continue speaking. He moved swifter still, and rained down blows with blades pulled from the earth. The first bit deep into the blue blade-tails covering the creature's arm, the second severed them, and the third ripped open its throat. One, and Gripper dodged and rolled as Gin's meteor hammer scythed through the air at head height. He moved faster than the scrawny officer could react, another blade about to cleave the man's head from his shoulders -

 _"Third Gear: Containment, Warding, Protection - Engage."_

Only to shatter as it hit an utterly impenetrable barrier. Gripper took a step back as a cage of lightning suddenly wove itself around him, a dome just large enough to contain him. How-

"Heya," Grigori Vinci said through a bloody smile. "Good thing I've got two more of the old tickers, eh?"

Gripper blinked at the man, who was standing straight despite the very obviously vital injuries Gripper had given him. He sighed. "Of course. I assume this shield cannot be broken?"

"Damn right," the traitor replied sunnily, slumping against the haft of his scythe. "You aren't going - _hrk_ \- anywhere."

Gripper smiled thinly. "And how long can you maintain it?"

Grigori's smile vanished. "Long enough," the traitor Warlord said with a cough. "Wouldn't be seemly for a captain to let his crew do the dying for him, you know?"

Gripper narrowed his eyes as he saw the Nightmare officers falling back. Gin pulled Rubeus Jack out of the rubble, while the others supported each other, but each of them were leaving, following an unspoken command. "You would die for them?" he asked.

"They are my crew," Grigori replied, as if that was an actual answer. The traitor Warlord hunched over, coughing harshly, and the lightning cage flickered for the briefest of instances. Grigori straightened with a clear effort, even as blood trickled from his nose and eyes. "They are my crew," he repeated. "If I cannot save them, I do not deserve to be captain."

Gripper regarded the man flatly. "You cannot delay me long enough to save them. I hope you understand that."

Grigori chuckled, breath rattling in his throat. "Maybe not. But I can try."

Gripper opened his mouth to reply, but the ceiling chose that moment to explode into a shower of molten earth and concrete, a draconic form following the shower of superheated rock at immense speeds. It landed between Gripper and Grigori, cracking the concrete floor with the force of the impact. " _ **Gripper,"**_ it snarled.

Gripper cocked his head. "And you are…?"

" _ **Oh fuck you."**_

"That is not an answer."

The lightning cage flickered again, and the draconic creature cocked its head. There was a flurry of motion behind it, before its tail came into view, wrapped securely around Grigori Vinci, who appeared too in shock to struggle. " _ **You don't get to be the suicidally selfless one around here, that's my job,"**_ the dragon proclaimed, before its tail hurled Grigori in the general direction of the escape tunnel.

Gripper restrained himself from gaping, and instead laid his hand on Fainaruburō's hilt, preparing for the moment the cage failed.

The dragon smiled, and its wings spread.

The cage blinked out of existence. Gripper leapt forwards at the same instant as the dragon, blade leaping free to meet the dragon's claw.

" _ **Four Point Strike!"**_

" _Infinite Limit!"_

Power clashed against power, will against strength, and the archives shook with the impact as the blows collided - and the dragon roared in agony as Gripper's blade severed its left arm and cut through its abdomen, eviscerating it in one smooth motion. The Rear Admiral hissed as caustic mist leaked from the wounds, and kicked the creature as hard as he could, sending it flying...towards the escape tunnel. Damn it all.

Gripper bit back a snarl, and resheathed his blade, picking up new ones as he walked forward. He would finish off these pirates, and then-

Gripper paused as armored figures appeared ahead of him, Nightmare soldiers blocking his path. More and more joined them by the second, cowled Wraiths, red-robed Cogs, armored Wolves and armed Basilisks, all of them standing before him in silent unison. He growled in frustration. "More of you intend to die, then?" he asked. "Why? You could surrender, or simply run. What cause do you fight for, that leaves you all so willing to die for him?" He tightened his grip on his blades. "Who _are_ you, to be pirates and yet show such loyalty?"

"Who are we?" one of the armored soldiers asked, stepping forward. His armor was covered in runes and frescoes, and he carried a tower shield in one hand and a halberd in the other. One of Grigori's personal guard. "We are Nightmares, and we fight for a better world. What other reason do we need?"

Gripper closed his eyes, and counted breaths. One. Two. Three. "Then die quickly," he said flatly.

* * *

Herman's knees hit the sand of the small cove moments after he staggered out of the tunnel. The wound he'd taken was still bleeding sluggishly, even with his Zoan abilities of recovery trying to keep it from growing worse. At least Gripper hadn't nicked his bowels - that would have been a poor way to go.

Herman hated this, hated leaving others to die, but he had his orders - fall back if wounded, let the other officers handle the fight. Those orders had brooked no argument, not the way Vinci had acted when he'd given them, and -

" _Mist Cutter!"_

Herman turned, catching the sudden attack on an upraised bracer, and glared at the enraged face of Ensign Tashigi. The woman leapt back, putting distance between them. "Pirate," she said coldly.

"Marine," Herman replied, drawing Amakatta even as he kept his other hand pressed to his wound. "Where's the rest of your soldiers?"

"They'll be here soon enough," Tashigi said, demeanor as frosty as the air. "Make this easy, and surrender. We can get that wound of yours treated."

"And clap me in Impel Down to die," Herman growled. "Not going to happen."

"Then I'll have to stop you," Tashigi said quietly, levelling the blade he'd made for her at Herman's heart.

Herman mirrored her motion with Amakatta. "If you can," he replied.

Moments passed. The tension built.

And then the ground in front of Tashigi exploded, hurling the ensign into the nearest cliff. Herman blinked, and turned as the _Ends Justified_ suddenly loomed out of the afternoon fog, front turret smoking. "Well, that works," he muttered, limping towards the ship.

The earth shook under Herman's feet, and he paused, looking back towards the tunnel as others began to appear, wounded Nightmares limping out. What the hell was going on down there?

* * *

Jack's life had been defined by numbers and equations. Income, spending, this much food for this many people, gunpowder and blades and ballast and storage. All the equations that balanced the books and made running a pirate crew possible no matter how meagre their budget.

He'd gotten damn good at it, and right now…

Right now, the way the factors were adding up to one inescapable conclusion:

Gripper would finish killing his way through the Nightmares before everyone else could get to the _Ends._

He wanted to laugh. All that sacrifice, all these wonderful treasured people who'd returned unasked and uncalled to give the rest of the crew just that last little chance to survive, everyone who was willing to lay down their lives for the captain's cause...and it just wasn't quite enough.

Jack halted his limping stride towards the escape tunnel, panting. Gripper's kick and the multiple tons of rubble that had fallen on him had broken bones even through his heavy armor, and he was fairly certain he had some severe internal injuries. He turned back to the fight, watching for a moment as Gripper engaged the last three of Vinci's Companions, the armored fighters holding him off in a display of vicious teamwork as best they could. He considered, ran the numbers. All the other officers were in the tunnel proper, alongside seventy of the crew. Jack was the only one of the officers not there - he'd sent Gin on ahead, just in case.

The factors balanced.

Jack pulled a remote from a pouch on his belt, flipped off the cover, and pressed the large red button on it.

A dozen explosive charges ignited as one, and the entrance to the tunnel collapsed with a roar, filling the archives with dust. Jack stood tall, and weathered the shock.

Almost immediately, his transponder snail began to ring. Jack held the tiny mollusc in the palm of his hand, and opened the connection.

" _WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"_ Gin roared. " _Damn it, Jack, you're still outside the tunnel! You're trapped in there!"_

Underneath his helm, Jack smiled. "I know."

" _You - damn you, you stupid bastard! I don't - I've lost enough crewmates this day, and you pull_ this?! _How fucking dare you?!"_

"Gin." The cadaverous man went silent as Jack placed the snail on the ground. "The position of bosun of the Nightmare Pirates falls to you, now," Jack said quietly. "Use it well."

" _...break the bastard's skull for me, Jack."_

"I'll give it my best shot. Tell Vinci I'm sorry - I wasn't able to be with him every step of the way, after all."

Rubeus Jack, Bosun of the Nightmare Pirates, went to war for the last time, with his hammer in his hand and a smile on his face. The smile was still there when he died.

* * *

Vinci only remembered flashes.

Being dragged down the tunnel by the last two Companions as his crew marched to their deaths. Screaming for them to stop, to let him go, to not _throw themselves away_ like they were doing, feeding themselves into the grinder because of his mistakes.

Kaneki's form collapsing onto the deck of the _Ends_ , wounds barely scabbing over as the dragon curled around Six and fell unconscious.

The screams of the wounded as Vinci and the few remaining medics worked to treat them, Lauren spitting curses as they cauterized the stump of her arm, Herman howling in rage as they did the same to his gut wound.

The thunder of guns as the _Ends Justified_ fled Arlen.

Empty bunks, far too many.

Gin responding to his question of where the hell Jack was.

One of the medics pressing a bitter-smelling drink into his hands and shoving him into a cot.

He did not remember his dreams, and for that he was grateful.

He looked up at the sky, and then turned in place, gazing behind the _Ends._

Behind them, the shape of Marine frigates, the hunting hounds sniffing for their masters.

Ahead, only the black wall of a storm, waves that could swallow the _Ends_ whole and lightning bolts that could split mountains, the winds sending his ship's rigging thrumming even at this distance.

"Orders, captain?!" the helmsman shouted over the howling winds, and Vinci looked ahead.

The clouds were still distant, and yet he felt rain on his face. How odd.

"Forward," he called. "Always forward."

The _Ends Justified_ sailed onwards, into the heart of the storm.


	91. From the Decks of the World 6

The Archives were a charnel field. The blood and bodies of dead Nightmares littered the massive vaults, and half the damn place was wrecked.

Smoker had the distinct impression that if not for the sudden lack of manpower and the huge escape tunnel leading directly to the previously secure location, he and his soldiers would never have been allowed in it. As it was, though, _someone_ needed to start cleaning things up, and almost everyone who _had_ the kind of clearance to be allowed in under ordinary circumstances was either dead, unconscious, or traumatized too severely to leave a fetal position.

So the Marines were set to dealing with the mess, with strict instructions to not touch anything dangerous-looking, to not read anything, and to most certainly not approach any of the vaults that had been opened.

The Commodore kept his thoughts to himself as he used his smoke to clear a collapsed bookcase.

Had this been Grigori's plan, only stopped at the last moment by the Rear Admiral? It didn't add up. Sacrificing three quarters of your crew wasn't smart _or_ in Grigori's little playbook - he was a pirate, yes, but also protective as all hell of his crew and allies. At the same time, they'd managed to nearly cripple any response early on, and what had happened at Emory...that kind of slaughter _had_ to be planned for. Same for the sabotaging of so many battleships. Was it some sort of contingency plan? It didn't make sense if it was - being a Warlord was one thing, but betraying the World Government so blatantly was just asking for the hammer to be dropped on your head. He gave it a month or two at most before they ran the traitor to ground and executed him as an example - his power had always been in his network and his creations, not his own strength. This entire endeavor was _stupid_...what the hell could have been worth that much trouble? Grigori was crazy and vicious, not an idiot, and for all the hate the Butcher Bird had for Marines, he wouldn't have allowed the slaughter of so many civilians.

It didn't make a difference, though. Done it they had - and they'd hurt his Ensign in the process, not to mention everyone else who had died. Tashigi would recover, but this time, there would be no Warlord immunity to protect Grigori and his crew from retribution. Justice would be served.

The debris was pushed aside, and Smoker narrowed his eyes as he saw what it had been concealing. It was a table, piled high with books and folders. Nothing unusual, really, except for one thing: the scalpels pinning some of the folders in place.

Grigori had been here. Had he read these? What sort of thing was it, to make what the pirate had sacrificed worth it?

Smoker checked his surroundings. He was, for once, alone. Everyone else was clearing other areas.

He walked up to the table, picked up the closest of the books - a small, leather-wrapped journal - and began to read.

 _Log One, Journal One._

 _I understand the need for secrecy and seclusion, but was it honestly necessary to put our research center on an island that is completely disconnected from the magnetic fields of the Grand Line? It's rendered some of our more delicate testing equipment useless until we recalibrate all of it._

 _No matter. Minor delays are immaterial so long as we have a functioning finished product._

 _Current trials with volunteers are proceeding well..._

* * *

Gripper regarded the body and the note with impassivity. He didn't feel anything, just...numb.

Part of that was the sheer amount of painkillers he was on. The medics said he may have a concussion, while his left arm was currently in a cast, and would be for weeks if not months. Lacerations, only recently stitched, covered his body, and he'd taken a bullet to the leg that was still in there, grinding against a bone - they didn't want to remove it and risk cutting an artery in the process.

A hundred-and-fifty-odd Augments and Rubeus Jack had not died easy. And, more damning, their deaths had bought time for the others to run. Pursuit would have to be taken by other Marine bases further down the line, because for the time being Arlen was _crippled_. They had enough men left to maintain the quarantine walls, and a few surviving scientists to continue the manufacturing of the suppressants so that Emory would not disintegrate into chaos - in fact, it appeared that, by luck or by design, the _Prevention_ part of the CDRP had been largely untouched by the fighting. The elements capable of pursuit boiled down to Smoker's men and a few frigates. None of which would survive an encounter with the _Ends Justified_ , let alone the monsters it called crew.

Gripper realized he was trying to distract himself, and returned his gaze to the body and the note.

Franz Josef could have been thought asleep, but the bottle of venom clutched in one hand and the suicide note on his desk put the lie to that.

Gripper had read it. Had seen the man's explanations, the reasoning behind it. A good man, who'd fallen for Grigori's lies, and seen no other way out once those lies had been revealed.

Perhaps it was for the best. Gripper knew how the brass operated: Franz Josef's crimes, no matter how good their intentions, would have earned him execution.

Still. Even with him dead, this note would be enough to tarnish his name forever.

Gripper's sword ripped the corpse's throat open, and then continued on, raining down shallow cuts to limbs and body. Wounds that would hurt and terrify a living man. The body's blood had not had time to clot, and red vitae stained the carpet of the office.

Gripper flicked the blood off his blade, sheathed it, and took the suicide note, before turning to the Marine who stood behind him with a horrified expression on his face.

"It appears," Gripper said flatly, "that the Nightmare Pirates tortured Franz Josef for information about the archives, and murdered him once they'd gotten what they wanted. Understood?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good."

Gripper felt suddenly tired. He left the office, walking through hallways aimlessly. Everywhere he looked, there were signs of the carnage that had been brought here. Old blood stains, torn-up walls and floors, scorch marks and craters.

Eventually, he found himself at one of the elevator shafts. The other ghoul-creature had jammed the cargo elevator into the shaft - it would take weeks, if not months, to fix the damage. The bodies had been taken away, but the scars of battle remained.

Damn the Elder Stars. If they had merely ordered Gripper personally, the Nightmares could have been subdued quickly. The base-wide announcement had only made the entire crew default to the first instinct of pirates - slaughter.

He did not dispute the necessity of arresting them: that was the privilege of his superiors, to order such things. But he still mourned that the execution had been so...imprecise.

Gripper sat on the edge of the shaft, and waited.

"Shoulda guessed you'd be here."

Gripper did not turn. He knew, just from the voice, who had entered. "Sit," he instructed Akira Horus.

The big man joined him. He looked like hell, half his head wrapped in bandages that were stained with drying blood from the claw marks on his skull. More were visible under the loose tunic and pants he wore, covering up the injuries his own armor had inflicted upon him.

"What is it you want?" Gripper asked quietly, getting to the point.

"I want…?" Horus paused, closing his mouth and looking up the elevator shaft, at the elevator itself where it sat jammed into the tower. "I want to join the Marines," he said finally.

"And why would you want to do that?" Gripper asked.

Something in Horus's eyes went hard. "There's a hell of a lot of monsters out there. It's time someone started hunting them."

Ah. Yoshimura's betrayal must have stung hard. Horus was the trusting sort, after all. "You're talking about the Butcher Bird."

Gripper blinked as Horus threw back his head and laughed. "No, no," the black-haired man said. "Not him. Maybe his crew, but...he's not a monster. But there's people out there who _are._ And...well, the only way I'm going to be able to take them down, is if I'm a Marine."

Gripper couldn't help it. He smiled, and extended a hand. "Welcome to the Navy, then, Akira Horus."

* * *

Viktor couldn't smell anything but blood, and while that was normal, given that the auditorium he was standing in was currently serving as a makeshift field hospital, the fact that it was making him _hungry_ was...not. He still wore Megingjörð, the armor following his movements even though it was currently drained. It did not hinder his surgical skill, or his use of his Devil Fruit. The latter of the two was the primary reason most of the hundred-odd men and women who'd been wounded had lived long enough for his surgery to work. His Fruit could not provide healing - that was up to their bodies - but it could keep them alive long enough to heal, and that was enough.

He closed a row of stitches, and paused as he realized that the gut-shot Marine he'd just treated was the last wounded person in the auditorium. Weariness hit him like a hammer, nearly overwhelming the hunger, and his knees nearly buckled, only a sudden steadying hand from Grundy keeping him upright. He let out a breath, then forced himself to straighten. "Thank you," he said softly.

"Don't mention it," Grundy said.

Boots sounded on the tiles of the auditorium, and Gripper looked up to see a squad of Marines approaching. Several of the Navy soldiers spread out, rifles in hand as they scanned the auditorium.

"Grigori Viktor," one of the Marines, wearing an officer's coat, said officiously. "You are under arrest."

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Under what charges?"

"Researching topics banned by the Elder Stars and the World Government at large. Come with us, or we will have to use force."

Viktor blinked. Banned...oh, hellfire. He _knew_ something like the Butcher Bird wasn't natural, the way the samples he'd cultivated had acted, and this just confirmed it. "If I leave here, my Devil Fruit stops working, and these people will in all likelihood die." A lie, but he needed to stall for time, stall for his and Grundy's strength to return. If only the _hunger_ wasn't clouding his thoughts…

The Marine's face was impassive. "That is not your concern, doctor," he said blankly, ignoring the sudden interest of the hundred-odd soldiers who had overheard him. "Will you submit to arrest? Refusal will be taken as evidence of your guilt."

"Who ordered this?" Viktor asked quietly.

"That is none of your concern, doctor."

"I think it damn well-" Viktor stopped speaking as he registered the alarming number of guns pointed at him.

"Last chance, doctor," the Marine officer said quietly.

"So this is how it ends," Viktor said softly, slumping. "Go to hell, you -"

 _Blam-blam-blam!_

Viktor flinched, closing his eyes...and then opening them as he realized he...hadn't been shot? What?

He looked at the Marine officer as the man swayed on his feet, bloodstains spreading across the white cloth of his uniform before he finally fell on his face, joining the rest of the squad. One of the wounded Marines Viktor had been treating lowered his smoking rifle, an action mirrored by a dozen of his fellows. "Well, we're walking dead men," the man said gruffly. "Hey, doctor, since they were planning to let us all die, I suppose you've got a plan to get out of here?"

Viktor closed his mouth with a snap, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "My Devil Fruit should allow you all to be mobile, regardless of injury," he said shortly, trying to conceal his inner panic. "It appears that, with a warrant out for my arrest, my option is to emulate my cousin and become a fugitive from the law. Wonderful. There should be at least _one_ intact frigate docked in Arlen."

"Then we better get moving."

Viktor nodded dumbly as the various Marines - fugitives, he supposed, now, began moving, stripping the execution squad of their weapons and uniforms as they did.

It appeared he was going to have to make things up as he went along.

He paused as he felt a measure of strength return to him, and the knife-edge of hunger abate slightly. He looked down, and saw his armored feet surrounded by the slowly spreading blood of the dead Marines. The armor there was slowly turning crimson again as the red liquid was pulled into it, Megingjörð sucking it up with eagerness.

This was... unexpected.

Viktor did not bend. He was a Grigori. He would figure a way out of this...and he'd make whoever wanted him dead regret ever being _born._

* * *

Elric was usually fine not being noticed.

He didn't have a super-amazing Devil Fruit - Zoans were pretty basic, after all.

He wasn't some notorious captain - hell, the bounty he got for this stunt, if he got one, would be his first.

He wasn't even unique in having gone from slave to captain of his own crew - he shared that with Baskonn.

So, yeah, being in the background was usually fine.

After what he'd seen, though? What he'd had to play along with? He refused to sit quietly.

Elric stood on _Unbroken Hope's_ foredeck, and cast an eye along the miniature refugee fleet.

The Grand Line was hell to navigate, and coordinating was supposed to be near impossible...unless, as it turned out, you had a whole truckload of Vivre Cards and the means to make more. Elric wasn't quite sure what the hell Attila's little old shaman lady _did_ with all those fingernails and hair clippings, and he was fine with that so long as it worked.

They had eight ships. Five of them were frigates and cruisers, the lean pirate vessels of the Hunt - Attila's _Wood Horse_ , Baptist John's _Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy_ , Vespucci's _Wayfarer_ , Wellington's _Black Kettle,_ and Elric's own _Unbroken Hope._ All of them showed the marks of a long time spent with the Cogs running a little wild - new turrets, rebuilt decks, metal sheathing. The last three ships were bulk cargo vessels, meant to survive the tumult of the Line with their precious cargo intact...and in this case, that cargo was precious indeed.

Elric wasn't the sort of hypocrite to turn his back on a slave ring when he saw it, after all. Charston had served as a hub for that sort of scum, technically not part of the World Government but visited often enough by them anyway when they wanted recruits...or when the World Nobles wanted _toys._ The memory of what he'd seen there made Elric grind his teeth.

He'd called some of the Hunt to him, promising plunder and loot in return for their help, and the closest of them had answered. They'd broken the city over their knee between the five of them, torn apart the slave rings in a repeat of the same violence the Butcher Bird had inflicted on Baccanar, and spirited away the slaves.

It wasn't much of a surprise, then, that a Marine patrol was after them. The self-righteous bastards couldn't let someone get away with taking out some of their best suppliers, after all. Elric sucked his teeth as he looked back at the Marine frigates in the distance, just out of turret range. The light ships were hunting dogs for their masters - the big fucking trio of battleships that were little more than smudges on the horizon. They'd run the Hunt flotilla to ground soon enough, and then the fight would start.

He had a pretty good feeling it'd be the last fight him and the others had. If the Marines were smart, they wouldn't bother closing the distance. Those big guns on the battleships outranged even the Cog-modified turret guns on the Hunt vessels, and they'd drown their flotilla in steel until even the Basilisks would fail to keep up.

It came down to running speed. The Hunt's ships could make it to the next island well before the battleships could catch up, especially now that they were past the worst of the climate-conflict storms that the sea could throw at them. But with the cargo vessels slowing them...the big guns would reach firing range well before that, and if Elric and his fellows turned to try and close the distance, the wind would be against them.

Not many ways out.

They could try and move as many people on board the Hunt vessels, but they only had space for a fraction of what the cargo ships were carrying and stopping to do it with any amount of safety ran the risk of having the Marine ships catch up anyway.

To hell with it. If they were going to go down, at least they'd go down fighting.

"Signal the others," he snapped to one of his fellow Daydream Pirates. "Hard about, let the cargo vessels carry on. Close as best we can and kill what we can."

The Wolf Augment nodded, before turning and starting to bellow orders. _Unbroken Hope_ heeled around with surprising agility for a cruiser-sized vessel, followed shortly by its fellow Hunt ships.

Elric smiled viciously at the Marine vessels.

" _The king and his men, stole the queen from her bed…"_ he began to sing, part out of fear, part out of hope. The rest of the crew began to join in as they readied themselves, and soon the tune drifted across the air to the other Hunt vessels.

" _Stole the queen from her bed,_

 _And bound her in her bones…_

 _These seas be ours, and by the powers,_

 _Where we will, we'll roam…"_

The enemy frigates drifted closer as _Unbroken Hope_ clawed for every meter against the wind.

" _Yo, ho, all hands,_

 _Hoist the colors high!_

 _Heave, ho, thieves and beggars,_

 _Never shall we d-"_

Every one of the six-hundred-odd Hunt members cut themselves off as a column of light erupted beneath the Marine battleships, and the sound of exploding ammunition stores mingled with the roar of flames. Seconds later, that column split, and each of the Marine frigates suffered the same fate. That-

Elric's face split into a huge smile as he saw the burned-black shape of a cruiser-sized vessel appear, sailing through the lingering pieces of starfire without a care in the world. He knew that vessel. He knew its captain.

Elric threw back his head and laughed as the _Corona_ , carrying Invictus Helios and the rest of the Solar Flare Pirates, sailed towards them, the massively built form of its captain standing on the foredeck with an equally huge smile on his face.

* * *

Baskonn had thought he'd given up on the universe making sense after hearing about the Butcher Bird's origins, and seeing the Grand Line in action (it had rained mangoes. _MANGOES!)_ , but he still felt like what he was looking at needed a response.

"I was gone for _one hour_ ," he said plaintively as his brain attempted to reject what it was looking at.

"Yes," Makkaik Kammak of the Fortress Pirates said in a completely impenetrable deadpan.

Baskonn waited. There was no further response from the mutton-chopped man. He groaned. "I was gone for an hour, how the _hell_ did you pull this off?" he asked, gesturing at what was unmistakably a floating Marine base.

"I am very good at making fortresses," Kammak replied flatly. "Making a floating one was also easy."

" _The Marines are all still in there."_

"Yes. Not for very long. There are many other captains."

Baskonn blinked, and turned to the floating Marine base, counting off the other Wild Hunt captains in his head. Vulkan Lives and Manson Havran had joined up for a good old-fashioned destruction of everything the Marines held dear. One utterly unkillable crazy person and another crazy person that could inflict soul-crushing despair at a touch.

The tattooed Night Terror Pirate saw several Marines leap off the walls of their floating base and start swimming for shore. Moments later, the triskelion symbol of the Wild Hunt was hauled onto the flagpole at the base's topmost tower.

Baskonn decided to give up on logic entirely. "Do you have an idea for a name?"

"I think I will call it the _Fortress._ "

"Isn't that just...literally describing it?"

"Yes."

Baskonn took a deep breath. "Alright, fine, have fun with your floating murder-base, I'm going to get back on my ship and forget this happened."

"Goodbye," Kammak said in the same utterly unruffled tone he always used.

* * *

Euclid Siegfried looked at his work, and thought it good. Burke Isle was - _had been_ \- an important supply station for several Marine bases down its neck of the Grand Line.

It was currently in several pieces, most of which were scattered farther down the sheer cliff wall that had served as its greatest defense. The pieces were on fire.

Oh, the things one could achieve with Cog-invented napalm…

The albino ex-Krieger smiled thinly as he ran the numbers. Without this supply base, logistics for the next several bases on the Grand Line would become...difficult. It would weaken the Marines and the World Government presence there. Either they turned to... _foraging_...for the ability to feed their troops, or they went on short rations. Either option gave him more levers to pull, and with the two Hunt captains with him - Mavros Thorakis and Ellison Carver - he had sufficient brute force on hand to deal with whatever would come next. The presence of Burke Isle had meant that the Marine garrisons were weaker - no need to spend desperately-needed troops on a 'secure' sector, after all - and cracking Burke had been easy enough due to the Wraiths among the crew.

Siegfried turned as the thundering tread of Thorakis reached his ears. The armored man had long since taken a Wolf Augment from one of the Hunt's...Siegfried believed the term they used was _Helix Adepts..._ and the Augment had agreed with him much as Siegfried's had, transforming him into a wall of muscle that Siegfried had seen personally rip down fortress gates thrice his height with his bare hands. The hugely built champion nodded, cleaning blood off his greatsword. So, the remaining officers had been dealt with. Siegfried's plan had called for Ellison to sap the will of the Devil Fruit users, and Thorakis to finish off the fighters who were strong enough to not need them.

Siegfried smiled. "Any casualties?"

"None," Thorakis answered. "My thanks for that. It was your plan."

"And Carver?"

"Taking a nap, the bandaged bastard." Thorakis shrugged. "Suppose we should sail, now. Not like the rest of the Marine bases'll burn themselves down."

"Indeed," Siegfried said quietly, before beginning to follow the champion. Gears spun in his mind, factors weighing the cruel calculus of war.

He'd joined the Hunt for much the same reason as he'd left the Kriegers, so long ago. War was Siegfried's profession. Whether he was paid or not was no factor for him, though it was for his troops. He only wanted to see his stratagems break the enemy.

And what better enemy to fight than the world itself, with soldiers of unsurpassed quality and power?

Siegfried's cold smile remained in place as he walked to the _Tangent_ , the vessel newly hulled in iron painted in the same checkerboarded black-and-blue that marked the armor of the Wolves in his service.

First Burke Isle. Then the next Marine base, and the next, and the next...and who knew what would follow then?

Perhaps Sabaody could serve as the meeting grounds, and Siegfried would get to see the Hunt as a whole wage war, united and strengthened by their journeys.

* * *

The island of Versally was burning.

Lytros Jeremiah was not overly discomfited by this fact. After all, he had arranged it.

The old preacher sat in a fashionable corner cafe, helping himself to some truly excellent tea and reading the newspaper as the sound of the mob down the street sang through the air.

" _I know the gutter and I know the stink of the street!_

 _Kicked like a dog, I have spat out the bile of defeat!_

 _All you beauties who towered above me..._

 _You! Who gave me the smack of your rod!_

 _Now I give you the gutter!_

 _I give you the judgement of God!"_

It truly had been easy to bring Jeremiah's philosophy to this place. An uncaring noble class, oppressing the people, had proven fertile ground, and all it had really taken was a few careful pieces of advice in the right ears to set things on their proper course.

Now, of course, the royals were dead, their bodies undoubtedly meeting some horrific fate, and most of the noble and rich would follow soon after...leaving only the people, free to do as they saw fit now that they'd claimed power for themselves.

Of course, it had taken some help. A few slit throats of prominent law enforcement members, a few bribes to place the obviously corrupt or incompetent in charge so they'd inflame passions...but this was old hat for Jeremiah. The refrain of 'no gods, no masters' was familiar for all that the specifics of the tune changed from island to island.

The old man had to admit, it was a nice change of pace from speaking directly. Being a Fae offered _ever_ so many opportunities, without the same sort of risks he'd had to take as a baseline human.

He wondered if he could leave the secrets to such... _ascension_...here. Put some philosophy into practice, and put _true_ power in the hands of the people. Surely there would be doctors who could understand such a thing…

Ah, but that was for later. Any doctors or surgeons were undoubtedly cowering, afraid of the violence in the streets. They were wealthy enough to be targets, after all. Mobs were seldom easily directed.

Lytros smiled as he opened a new section of the paper, one recently expanded.

It was filled with bounty posters.

The cadaverous priest frowned as he placed one marked with a red X aside. It was a pity. Rubeus Jack was a fine fellow, well-rooted and solid in all aspects. Lytros would not dishonor him by giving prayer to a philosophy Rubeus had not worshipped, but Vinci must be grieving…

And these bounties…

A new photo of Vinci, laughing as golden tears dripped from his eyes and lightning wreathed his limbs, and a bounty of 550 million.

The Butcher Bird, clad in a bloodstained Marine coat, another photo of some draconic scaled creature accompanying it...600 million, and _Alive Only?_ Still?

Bosque Herman, grim in his armor as always, at 108 million, and 'Revenant' Gin at 85 million with a meteor hammer to hand instead of his tonfas.

Bertram Lauren, 98 million dead, 308 million alive, the gas mask off her face in this photo and exposing the placid face and tormented eyes of a reluctant killer.

The Butcher Bird's companions, the Oni, had earned a collective bounty of 66 million, while his brother was now 'Jabberwock' C and came with a bounty of 77 million. Six, to Lytros's lack of surprise, had earned a sum of 84 million, and the name of 'Songbird'. And then...this was, to Jeremiah's knowledge, unprecedented.

2 million for any Wolf Augment. 6 million for a Basilisk, 16 for a Wraith, and 20 for a Cog. A general bounty on crew members? This was strange indeed.

Perhaps it was belated recognition on the part of the Navy. The members of the Hunt were not like ordinary crews, where the only measure of strength was in the officers.

But the value on those officers...Vinci had gone with his plan to find some sort of secret. What sort of thing had he found that was so terrible his crew had been given bounties more in line with New World veterans than people of Vinci and the Butcher Bird's true strength? Had they grown that much in the time they'd spent apart?

No...if they had, Rubeus Jack would not have died.

Lytros Jeremiah sipped at his tea and smiled. The next Cog-transmitted call would prove to be interesting.

* * *

 _MEMO TO ALL WORLD GOVERNMENT PERSONNEL:_

 _ **Grigori Vinci has elected to betray the World Government and renounce his Warlord position. All Wild Hunt personnel are to be considered pirates once more and dealt with accordingly. That is all.**_

 _Record of encrypted transmission, Elder Stars communications line._

ES1: The Grigori family has outstepped both its boundaries and its usefulness. They are enemies of the state, and shall be extinguished from the annals of history, much like their work.

RD: Understood. We are in agreement then?

ES2: However you choose to finish them is not our concern. Only that you succeed.

RD: I have already positioned agents.

 _Internal Marine correspondence, letter from Rear Admiral Marius, CLotN, to Fleet Admiral Sengoku, FAotN._

Casualties from the Hunt's various blows are going to affect operations across the Grand Line and places on the Southern and Western Blues for months to come. Casualty rates are in the thousands and rising as reports come in. Expect it to top nearly 20,000, not counting civilian casualties. Requesting permission to allow localized conscription or impressment, or additional funding for recruitment drives to supplement our losses. Thankfully, the vast majority of the losses are rank-and-file rather than hardened officers, but even those will be difficult to replace.

Sincerely,

Rear Admiral Marius, Chief Logistician

 _Transcript, meeting in Marineford HQ_

PRESENT:

Fleet Admiral Sengoku

Vice Admiral Tsuru

Vice Admiral Edgar

Vice Admiral Strawberry

Rear Admiral Kadar

Rear Admiral Maynard

Rear Admiral Sicily

Rear Admiral Ozawa

SENGOKU: I want a task force assembled. _Now._

TSURU: Crushing them will take a great deal more than that. They're spread across half the globe by now.

EDGAR: And new crews are being drawn to their banner from the chaos.

SENGOKU: Of course they are. That's why Garp's already headed for the South Blue.

TSURU: . . . He left the moment he got the news, didn't he? Hell, he better get back here in time.

SENGOKU: If it lessens his conflicted feelings and deals with the latest thorn in our sides I'll allow it. As for the rest of you...Strawberry, scour the West Blue. So long as you don't attack civilians, you're allowed to do whatever it takes to burn the Wild Hunt there out.

STRAWBERRY: Understood, Fleet Admiral. I will leave now.

SENGOKU: Ozawa, take your 'Dogs of War' and set them on Ivankivraion. The site is still dangerous, but it's Vinci's most likely location to head for, and you should be able to intercept them.

OZAWA: And my...recent 'recruits'?

SENGOKU: Put them in the vanguard.

OZAWA: I understand.

SENGOKU: Kadar, Maynard, Gripper has received a promotion to Vice Admiral. He's demonstrated the skill required, and he needs the rank. You will accompany him and bring him the ships he requires. I'm attaching Commodore Smoker and Captain Hina to his command as well. Your responsibility will be to be a quick-reaction force. Await further instructions once you link up.

KADAR & MAYNARD: Understood!

SENGOKU: Sicily, your responsibility will be to handle Euclid Siegfried and the Hunt elements under his command before he can cause more havoc to our bases there. Do _not_ attempt to engage him in a battle on land. Take him by sea.

SICILY: I obey, Fleet Admiral.

 _Sengoku's Private Journal_

What are the Elder Stars thinking, placing Marshall Teach as a Warlord? That's twice now they've made that call, and I believe it will prove just as poor of one as with Grigori and his ilk. Yes, Teach lacks a bounty, but he also lacks a past. We know little to nothing of him…

It matters not, I suppose. So long as he's willing to fight alongside us and cause a minimum of trouble, he'll retain his Warlord seat. And with a member missing already, it's hard to justify not accepting him.

I'll have to reach out to our contacts further afield. If I can fill the empty slot, it will reduce the chances of this happening again.

I almost envy Garp, at times. He gets to have a straightforward existence of smiting evil. I have to work with it, and under it, because in the end I can hope it saves more lives that way.

 _TOP SECRET: EYES ONLY_

 _Capture confirmed of: Portgas D. Ace, Whitebeard Pirates, 'Sabo', Revolutionary Army. Execution preparations underway._

 _All Marine Bases are to prepare for voyage to Marineford and await further instructions concerning deployment orders._

 _Revealing fact of capture is to be considered treason and punished accordingly._


End file.
